


gold, when you find me

by mmtion



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Secret Identity, coffee shop AU, complete bastardisation of the actual show's timeline and villains, journalist iris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmtion/pseuds/mmtion
Summary: It's not that Iris hates The Flash, per say - more that she hates writing aboutThe Streakin a weekly, pun-heavy comic based on The Flash.Typical, then, that she finds herself spending more and more time with the speedster superhero as she tries to unravel an underground criminal organisation no-one else seems ready to take on.At least her newly-found coffee shop (with a really,reallycute owner) won't give her any more stress. Right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so so so many thanks to @julietohara and @sophisticatedloserchick who are editing angels and deal with my annoying ass on the regular  
> i've had a lot of fun writing this, so hopefully y'all have fun reading it. also plz don't be too mad at all the puns. 
> 
> p.s as of publishing this first chapter, the second part is only about halfway done, so don't expect an update for a lil bit.

_ISSUE #147: THE STREAK BATTLES QUEEN MEGALODON_

_The STREAK is near defeat - despite his new waterproof suit and underwater jetpack, the Queen is still too strong, too large, and has too many SHARP TEETH!_

_Queen Megalodon: GRAAAR_

_But he has one last trick up his red sleeve…._

_The STREAK: Let’s FIN-ish this!_

_He throws a small contraption into the water, using his SUPER-SPEED to leap out into the air. The contraption ELECTROCUTES the water, and Queen Megalodon within! Once again, Central City’s superhero is victorious! He zooms away, back to his apartment._

_The Streak: I’m never having SEA FOOD again!_

_Tune in again next week for another episode of the Scarlet Speedster’s adventures…_

-

Iris pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath, trying to remember what she learned from that one meditation class she took in college.

The coffee machine in the office is broken. Which wouldn’t be so terrible, if Iris hadn’t woken up too late to have her usual dose of caffeine at her apartment. She has an important deadline to meet today, and a tired Iris is not a productive one.

Like an angel on her shoulder, Linda’s voice offers, “Go to Mistletoe Avenue and pick us up some cappuccinos.” Iris opens her eyes to see a manicured hand wiggling a ten-dollar bill right in front of her face. She snatches it away, and Linda laughs. “You’re so grumpy in the mornings.”

“Shut up.” Iris replies, which hardly refutes the point. Give her a break - it’s nine am, she’s not exactly full of witty rapport at this hour.

“Go get your fix,” Linda dismisses. “You know Mason encourages out-of-office work anyway.”

It’s true - ever since Mason, their chief editor, went to a conference on the modern boss, he’d been obsessed with getting his writers out of the office and into their ‘comfort desks’, whatever that means.

With that in mind, as she leaves to grab the drinks, Iris takes her notebook in her purse on impulse. Maybe the fresh air will give her creativity a sorely-needed boost. She walks in the directions of Linda’s suggestion.

Mistletoe Avenue is a little side-street near the city centre where there’s loads of cute boutiques and hipster Instagram-locations. Iris doesn’t go down there much, but as she walks down the small street, she finds it oddly soothing. There’s not much traffic, and it feels like a little capsule away from the big-city-buzz. It certainly feels a world away from the constant noise and pressure of the Central City Picture News office.

She assumes there’ll be a Starbucks or something, but before she can see the famous green logo, something else catches her eye: Star Coffee. The shop front is not particularly fussy, to go with the simple logo across the top. There’s a plant pot by the door, which opens as Iris stands there observing. A customer leaves, holding a take-away paper cup with the shop’s black and white logo on a cardboard sleeve. But what intrigues Iris is the woman saying, “God, and the barista here is just so hot. I want him with a shot of caramel, if you know what I mean.”

Maybe it’s a little bit of fate, maybe it’s the fact she just wants coffee as soon as possible. Maybe it’s because Iris wants to see the hot barista. But whatever the reason, she goes inside, pushing the glass door and ignoring the chime of a bell above her.

Inside, the interior is a careful balance between sweet and practical. The wooden tables are clean and sturdy, and the armchairs dotted around the floor space look comfortable. There’s just enough people that it’s not too busy, but not too empty and awkward either, with low-level chatter simmering in the air.

She wanders forward to join the three-person strong queue in front of the counter, taking the opportunity to examine the pastries on offer. Each one looks handmade and delicious; Iris immediately wants the ‘scone with the wind’, and thinks about taking back a ‘tribble muffin’. Luckily, the drinks are named simply rather than with puns, and she ponders the chalkboard menu. It’s why she doesn’t notice the barista until she gets close.

Admittedly, he is sexy in a cute way, with a big smile and gorgeous curly hair. But something about him isn’t quite Iris’s type as she reads ‘Cisco’ on his name label. He smiles at her - an auburn-haired woman behind him is making the drinks as he takes the orders. Iris used to work in a cafe her junior year of college, so she has some idea of how the operation works. But this Cisco’s smile certainly seems a lot more genuine than hers ever felt. “Welcome to Star Coffee - what can I get you?”

Iris rattles off the order: “One latte with an extra shot of coffee, and a cappuccino with skimmed milk. And uh, throw in some cinnamon syrup in the cappuccino.” She knows it’s a guilty pleasure of Linda’s, and as much as she’ll protest about her low-sugar diet, she’ll appreciate it.

“Cool, cool,” he says, tapping at the till and then throwing over his shoulder, “Extra shot latte and a skinny cinnamon cappuccino. Regular sizes, I’m assuming?” He asks, and Iris takes a second to realise he’s talking to her.

“Uh, make the latte a large.”

He repeats the adjustment accordingly, and then the corner of his grin quirks in understanding. “Long day ahead of you, huh?”

“Coffee machine at work broke,” she explains.

“The horror!” He clutches a hand to his chest with an aghast expression and she can’t help but giggle.

She’s the last of the queue, so she doesn’t feel bad for continuing the conversation as she asks, “Have you guys been busy today?”

He shrugs. “The usual morning rush - we’re only a small shop though. We prefer to have a few regulars than loads of commuters, you know?”

“Sure, that makes sense.” Iris nods. “If I’m honest, I hadn’t heard of you guys. My friend recommended I come here. But I usually just make my coffee at home -  I’m not fussy as long as it wakes me up.”

At that, Cisco raises his eyebrow. “You haven’t tried ours yet.”

“Strong words,” she counters with a smile.

Then the auburn-haired barista turns with two takeaway cups, one larger than the other, in the quickly-familiar black and white style. “Large extra shot and a medium cinnamon?” She calls. Iris notices she’s also really attractive - maybe that’s what makes the coffee so popular here - with cool brown eyes and a button nose.

Iris is the only customer still waiting for drinks anyway, and she reaches for the coffees. “Thank you,” she says, but the barista just turns back to the machine and starts wiping it down.

“Don’t mind Cait,” Cisco says quietly. Then he perks up. “Why don’t you just chill here for a bit? Work can wait for ten minutes, and I promise our armchairs are comfier than any desk chair.”

“I shouldn’t…” Iris hesitates, but she catches sight of a plush leather chair in the corner and she’s done for.

Cisco goes in the kill: “I’ll bring you over a sample of our new flapjack.”

“What’s the pun?” Iris asks absent-mindedly even as she steps towards the chair.

He grins conspiratorially. “Spinal Tap-jack.”

Iris laughs out loud. “Fine, okay. Ten minutes. How could I resist a name like that?”

“Coming right up.”

She wanders over and sits down delicately, putting down the two paper cups on the table next to her and just sinking into the cushions. She lets out a sigh, letting her head roll back. Still leaning back, she reaches for a latte and takes a sip. She’s not expecting anything better than just a milky coffee, which is why she’s so surprised by the taste that she actually lets out, “Oh my god.”

“It’s good?” A voice beside her asks.

“So good,” she says, unable to hide her disbelief. She actually turns the cup around in her hand to examine it, as if there’ll be a small piece of unicorn dust left behind or something. The voice chuckles a little, and she finally turns to look at its owner.

And she thought the coffee at this place was incredible, never mind the customers.

He’s unfairly handsome, with freckles splattered across high cheekbones like paint, and green eyes that crinkle with a dimpling smile. Chestnut hair is combed but somehow still a little bit messy above unique eyebrows. “Hi,” she says, dumbly.

“Hello,” he greets in return.

She coughs awkwardly. Come on West, you can flirt. She wasn’t named Homecoming Queen for nothing, damn it. “You like the coffee here as well?”

His lips curl, and he tilts his head. “Something like that. What did you order?”

“A latte,” she says, taking another sip and nearly rolling her eyes back in her head. “I never get expensive coffees because I never see the point, no matter how many comfy chairs they put in a place. I mean, water plus milk plus beans, right?”

“Right,” he agrees, those green eyes twinkling at her.

“But this is so good. Creamy, and like, bitter but also a sweet aftertaste?” She realises she’s probably talking garbage. “Sorry. I mean, I don’t know much about coffee.”

“No, no,” he says, cupping his chin in his palm as he leans his elbow on the table between them. “Go on. The less you know about the technical side, I bet your opinion will be more honest.”

“Maybe,” she says, but she’s still embarrassed. She turns it on him. “What did you order?”

“Oh,” he says. The tops of his ears go red - she hopes he never plays poker. “Uh, it’s the new frappuccinos we- this place is trialing. It’s caramel, chocolate and golden crumbs blended with ice, milk and one shot of coffee.”

She can’t help the face she pulls. “Sounds, uh, really sweet.”

He laughs. “Yeah, it is. Do you want to try?”

She lifts her own coffee in explanation as she says, “Nah, you’re good. I’ve got my own, thanks.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, and takes a pointed slurp that she smirks at. “Is this your first time here?”

“Yeah,” she admits. “Really, if Linda hadn’t pointed me in the right direction, I probably would just keep walking past. But it’s a cute place. I like the plants.”

“Uh huh,” he says, smiling so wide he’s almost laughing. He leans in. “I should warn you though: they're are fake.”

“No!” She pretends to be scandalised, and reaches to the small succulent on the table to prod it. Sure enough: completely plastic. “I just don’t know what to trust now,” she says sadly.

“No authenticity in places like these anymore,” he agrees, shaking his head.

Then Cisco puts down a plate with the promised flapjack square. “Here you go,” he chirps to Iris, before turning to the guy next to her. “Hey, Barry, Caitlin says there’s a problem with the delivery, can you call the milk suppliers up? They’ll want to speak with the owner rather than just us, I’m guessing.”

Iris frowns, and then puts a few facts into place all at once. The name of the guy next to her is called Barry. He is also the owner of the coffee shop. And she just said his lattes were _creamy_ , god.

She abruptly stands. “I should get these coffees back to the office. Linda wouldn’t want hers to be cold, I’m sure. Uh, thanks Cisco. And nice to meet you, Barry.”

“Wait-”

But she’s scuttling out of the door before Barry can call her back. She really does need to go back to work, she isn’t lying. But come on, she said the sentence, ‘water plus milk plus beans’ to a guy who _owns a coffee shop_.

She gets back to the office and decides to put the whole ordeal out of her head. She’s never going to go back, so there’s no point in worrying. Even when she gives the cup to Linda, she seems confused and says, “I meant the Starbucks, where on earth were you?”

“Nowhere,” Iris replies quickly, which is another point in the ‘Iris can’t lie for shit’ column. “I’m going to go work now.”

“Uh huh,” Linda says speculatively, examining her cup as Iris hurries away.

Unfortunately, with putting her flustered encounter out of her mind, Iris is forced to concentrate on the actual problem which had put her in such dire need of coffee in the first place: her deadline.

See, Iris works at a newspaper. But she’s not exactly much of a journalist. Although she is - technically -  a writer, as she puts on her Twitter bio.

Two years ago, there was a particle accelerator explosion. A lot of people died, including Harrison Wells, the mastermind behind the invention. And a lot more people gained… certain powers. The current working name is to call them meta-humans, and Iris’s father is actually part of the police task force dealing with most of them. Many used their powers for crime.

But then there were some who used their powers for good.

Enter the Scarlet Speedster. At first, he was just an urban myth, with stories of lightning and caught bullets and people suddenly thirty floors down on the street while their apartment block burned. But soon enough, he was caught on camera: a real, presumed male, human being.

Iris was an intern at the time. Sure, the Flash was interesting, and she was glad for the work he was doing to stop criminals. But honestly, she was just trying to mind her own business, and get an actual job doing what she loved: writing. It was why she was so eager when Mason first called her into his office with the promise of a full-time position at the paper, with her own weekly page and an actual wage. She said yes before she even knew what she was agreeing to.

Turns out, because of that Intro to Script Writing class she took in college, she was the intern most qualified to write the paper’s newest addition: a comic book fictionalising the escapades of the real-life Flash.

“We’re going to call our version The Streak,” she remembers Mason holding his hands out like he was outlining the headline.

“But he’s called the Flash,” Iris had pointed out, honestly confused. “We’re the ones who named him that. We had a staff meeting to choose names.”

“Yeah, and he took it on, we’re very proud. But keep up, North.”

“It’s West-”

“We have to use slightly different names. That’ll go the same for all the villains as well. We don’t want to be sued if they ever reveal their identities. We can’t have another lawsuit after the whole business with the sports section.”

“What happened-”

“It was settled out of court, alright? Get off my back, jeez. Anyway, you’ll be working with Linda Park, one of our in-house artists. Learn how to write a comic book script and then come back with an origin story for me to run next week.”

And so, 'The Sensational Streak’ was born, much to Iris’s increasing frustration.

Because, listen. She’s all for heroes and real-life wonders, and she doesn’t blame people for wanting to read more about the fantasy, especially when the superhero himself is so elusive. Except writing comic books is not what Iris wants to be doing with her life. She’s grown to love the medium, but her artistic freedom is massively stunted, since readers want as close to the real deal as possible.

This basically means Iris simply has to write a tamer, drawn-out version of whatever evil the Flash has recently stopped. When the Flash stops bank robbers, so does the Streak. When the Flash defeats Captain Cold and Heatwave, the Streak fights against Major Polar and Scorcher. When the Flash manages to stop a damn black hole high in the sky, guess what? So does the Streak!

(She’d also like to point out that she doesn’t come up with the names - that’s all Mason’s job, which he takes great pride in.)

She knows she shouldn’t complain, and she knows that the Streak managed to save her from unemployment. But it’s not what she imagined doing with her life, is all.

Now, she sits at her desk, nursing her coffee between her clasped hands and resting her chin on the lid in thought. She taps her fingers on the paper, looking for inspiration. On one half of her computer screen, she has the reports and details of the latest fight between the Flash and Captain Cold. On the other half, she has a blank page.

She takes another sip of her coffee, and she starts to type:

_Close-up on the closed CASINO doors._

_Then they open with a BANG and through them, MAJOR POLAR and his accomplice, SCORCHER, run through._

_SCORCHER: We’ve really done it this time, MAJOR! We’ve hit the JACK-_

Iris’s phone rings and she picks it up without pausing in her typing. “Iris West, Central City Picture News.”

“Hello, Miss West,” the heavily modified voice on the other end replies. “Did you miss me?”

Iris’ fingers halt their flurry of tapping as she grabs a notebook and focuses all her attention on the phone. “My favourite anonymous source,” she greets. “Did you guys take the week off?”

“We had a bit of issues with time travel,” he dismisses.

Iris quickly jots down a note. “Oh, really? Does that mean you were involved with that spaceship that crashed down in Starling City?”

“Ah, well- No, stop it. That’s not what I’m calling about.” The voice at least sounds harried - Iris puts down a 'yes’ to her question, biting back a smile.

For as long as the voice has been calling her with tidbits about the Flash’s real escapades (that are always true), Iris has been trying to get clues on the owner. She’s sure that the voice works closely with the Flash and his team, and she’s reasonably confident it’s a guy. But other than that, he’s been elusive, and she knows from experience that he will just hang up if she gets too nosy.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she teases. “So what do you have for me?”

“The battle between Captain Cold and the Flash,” he begins. “I thought you might like to know how we stopped them.”

Iris makes a non-committal noise. “The reports seem pretty accurate, and I watched some cell phone footage. The Flash tricked them into shooting at each other, right?”

“Well, yes.” The voice pauses. “I didn’t realise there was cellphone footage.”

“I did have one question, though,” Iris says, before the voice leaves. “The suit’s been updated, hasn’t it? I noticed the new emblem, and the material seems a bit different.”

“You have a keen eye.”

She tries not to feel too warm at the idea of being right, or at a compliment from a disembodied voice. That would be pathetic. “Can you tell me anything more? That would be great for the hundred and fiftieth issue, some kind of new suit reveal. We could do a full-page spread - obviously some stuff would be wrong or made up, we don’t want to give all his weaknesses or strengths away.”

The voice pauses. “I can tell you one thing.”

“What?”

“The suit doesn’t come with an underwater jetpack.”

And he hangs up.

Iris lets out a deep sigh, and leans back in her chair with a scowl. Just because she understands the need for secrecy doesn’t mean she has to like it. She goes back to typing - if the voice isn’t going to play ball, then she’s just going to have to take some creative liberties.

-

_ISSUE #148: MAJOR POLAR RETURNS_

_The ringing of an alarm shrills through the air - people on the street stop to see where the sound comes from._

_Close-up on the shut CASINO doors._

_Then they open with a BANG and through them, MAJOR POLAR and his accomplice, SCORCHER, run through. Loose cash flutters around them in their hurry._

_SCORCHER: We’ve really done it this time, MAJOR! We’ve hit the JACKPOT!_

_MAJOR POLAR: Don’t get too cocky! We still need to deal with-_

_A jolt of red lightning introduces THE STREAK’s arrival. He stands with his hands on his hips, confident. His emblem is now white and gold, and he has small LIGHTNING BOLTS by his ears as well._

_THE STREAK: Going somewhere? But I still had a bet on RED!_

-

The plan is to not go back to Star Coffee. Why would she? She makes her coffee at home, and she spends her disposable income on clothes, snacks and cocktails, like a responsible adult.

And okay, the owner might be really, really cute. And she’s probably being over-dramatic in how embarrassing the scene really was. But she doesn’t have time to be flirting or trying out new coffees or falling into warm eyes with stupidly-long eyelashes.

But that Cisco was right - she was living in a pre-Star-latte world. And just a week later, she craves it with all her gut. She even, at one low point, begs Linda to go get the coffee for her. Linda, being the kind and caring friend she is, tells Iris ‘to suck it up and stop being a little bitch about it.’

Yet all of that doesn’t really explain why Iris finds herself, a week and a half later, standing outside of Star Coffee. She should just go in - she knows she’s being ridiculous. But she still takes a moment to examine the neighbouring shop front while she gathers her courage.

(Maybe there’s something else going on that she doesn’t want to admit out loud. Something about the possibilities of those green eyes. Something about funerals and the weight of a previous engagement ring she can still feel sometimes on her finger. Something about a fear of falling too hard again.)

The door jingles as someone leaves the coffee shop - out of Iris’s peripheral, she recognises chestnut-brown hair and she immediately looks away, frozen. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t eavesdrop, however.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be right there, Kara, I promise. Your apartment? I’ll use my key. Okay, bye, see you in a few.” Barry hangs up as he keeps walking away. 

Iris waits a few moments until she’s sure he’s gone, and then turns back to watch his retreating figure hurry away and slip around the corner.

Kara. That must be his girlfriend - who else would he leave work for? And have a key for her apartment? It makes sense - a guy like that, with his own business and looks like that. _Of course_ he has a girlfriend.

Iris feels at once both disappointed and relieved. But she shakes herself. Now she knows he’s off-limits, she doesn’t have to worry, or hope. Begone, momentary feelings of attraction!

She walks into the coffee shop, taking a deep breath and letting the calm of the atmosphere wash over her. Like before, there’s just enough people here to make the shop enticing. Iris brought her laptop with her this time, and she really does intend to get some work done - and maybe some extra-curricular work done as well now that she’s not under surveillance from the office.

As she walks to the counter, Cisco’s face actually lights up upon recognising her, and she’s helpless but to smile back. “You came back!” He enthuses. Then his lips twist. “You just missed Barry - he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Iris quickly says. “I’m here for coffee, not to insult the owner again.”

Cisco laughs. “Really, don’t worry about it; he should’ve introduced himself earlier.”

Iris is really not keen on a play-by-play of the encounter, so she says, “Can I get another large latte with an extra shot? To have in, this time.”

“Coming right up,” Cisco says, bouncing it through the till. It’s just him behind the counter today, so once Iris pays the right cash, he turns to the machine behind him and starts slamming down handles and twisting knobs and heating up milk. “How’s your work going?” He asks, throwing the question back over his shoulder.

Iris shrugs. “Fine. They fixed the machine, but now I’ve had yours, I know the difference.”

Cisco laughs. “I told you - we make great coffee. The key is roasting the beans perfectly.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” replies Iris, taking the opportunity to examine the room in more detail. This time around, she recognises the three people in the framed photo on the wall: Cisco, Caitlin, and Barry, smiling at the camera. Elsewhere around the walls, there are vintage Star Wars posters and signed actor autographs. Along with the plastic plants, there is an eclectic mix of strange-looking inventions, vintage toys and old books. Hipster brick covers one wall, while the others are a warm painted red.

“And where do you work?” Cisco adds as he pours the milk into a huge porcelain mug, also stamped with the shop’s logo.

“Central City Picture News,” Iris answers simply.

Cisco seems to freeze, and the mug he’s pouring into actually spills over. He realises his mistake and then quickly pulls away and starts dabbing paper towels on the saucer. “Sorry!” He says quickly. “I just- you’re a reporter?”

Iris winces. “Um. Not really.”

“A photographer? Editor? Do you print the pages?” Cisco persists, weirdly invested for some reason Iris can’t understand.

She sighs in defeat; from what little she knows about Cisco, she’s going to guess he’s not the type to give up. “I write the Streak comics.”

There’s silence as Cisco’s expression doesn’t change. And then: “Shut. Up.” He leans over the counter, palms flat on the wood, and fixes Iris with an intense stare. “You’re Iris West?”

“Uh,” Iris considers actually taking a step back. “Maybe?”

Cisco presses his hands together as if in a prayer in front of his lips. “I just- I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised? Because of course you are. Fate, and that. But also, this is amazing. I’ve always wanted to actually meet you.”

“You read the comics?”

“Read them? I-” Then he pauses, as if collecting himself. He coughs. “Yes, I read them. I love them.”

She shakes her head. “You’re being too nice. They’re not that great.”

“No, really!” He enthuses. “Come on - even ignoring the subject, I love how you evoke the classic nostalgia of comics. But you’re also not shying away from pragmatism. And I really loved the origin story you gave him, and the arc of self-imposed redemption.”

Iris is - despite herself - unduly flattered. “Thanks,” she says, surprised by how much she means it. She’s gone to conventions and met plenty of fans in her time - but most are usually fans of the original source material more than her writing. “That’s what I’m trying to go for.”

“Also,” and here, Cisco adopts a mockingly-serious tone. “I’m a really big fan of your puns.”

Iris giggles. “I do work hard on them.”

“And gender-bending King Shark? Inspired.” Cisco kisses his pinched fingers like a chef, and Iris feels herself settle. When she meets fans, she’s usually too worried about disappointing them, or having to prove herself. But Cisco’s antics seem genuine without putting her on the spot, despite how crazy his stare was at first.

“That’s nice of you to say,” she says genuinely.

“So you’re here to write more? Please, don’t let me stop you,” he gestures for her to find a seat and then holds his hands away as if in surrender. She doesn’t bother to correct him - she’s actually already written this week’s story, a beach-day interlude where the Streak goes for a vacation and ends up fighting some thieves in just a mask and board shorts. (It’s not Iris’ proudest work, she’ll admit.)

She finds an armchair near the front - the ones nearer the back seem busy already, and there’s a plug socket here for her laptop charger. She absent-mindedly touches the small plant on the table as she waits for her laptop to boot up, and then finds herself smiling at the confirmation that this too is plastic.

The wifi password is ‘HanillaShotFirst’, which, once Iris figures out the pun, is absolutely horrible, but she types it in obediently. Soon, she finds herself deep within her folder of her extra-curricular research - also known as her attempts into real investigative reporting.

There’s been an increasing rate of illegal firearm arrests - Iris knows this because of her dad’s complaints as well as her own sources within the CCPD. This is common knowledge, and already being reported on briefly by the actual reporters Iris works with. But here’s where Iris wants to dig: she thinks it’s related to the emergence of a new drug on the club scene. No-one’s been able to even get a name of the drug, just rumour and pictures and overdoses in the hospital, never mind find a link between them or the source of the activity. But if Iris can find a lead, then maybe-

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the chime of the bell above the door. She’s mid-sip of her latte, so of course chokes on the hot milk a little bit when she sees who it is. Barry, hair windswept and cheeks flushed. Not fair, she privately thinks.

Barry also looks equally surprised to see her. “Hi,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey,” she says, slowly putting down her cup before she does something truly ridiculous, like drop it on her lap.

Luckily, just in case it wasn’t already strangely awkward, Cisco pipes up. “Barry!” He enthuses. “Guess what her name is?”

“Cisco,” they both say in unison, in an equally warning tone.

But Iris sighs, not wanting to delay the inevitable. “I’m Iris,” she introduces. “Iris West.”

Barry eyes widen comically. “You write about the Fla- the Streak,” he corrects.

Her lips curl. “You can say the Flash - I doubt he’s listening.”

Barry’s ensuing laughter is just a bit too high-pitched to be natural. “Right.” he says. “The Flash isn’t here. I mean, of course he isn’t. That would be- ah.”

“Dude,” Cisco says.

Barry coughs into his fist. “I read the comics,” he offers. “That’s why- I mean, I assume Cisco already fangirled all over you.”

Iris grins. “Kind of. But he was nice, and definitely not the worst fan I’ve ever met.”

Barry raises his eyebrows as he comes to sit down on a chair near her. “I find that hard to believe,” he says, ignoring Cisco’s 'hey!’ of outrage.

“Honestly,” she assures them both. “I’ve had guys send action figures to my office, and girls who have asked me for the Flash’s email address.”

“They assume you know him?” Barry guesses.

“Exactly. Like, a lot of dudes have actually accused me of sleeping with him.” At this, Barry’s whole ears go red, and Cisco laughs a tinge hysterically. “Which is obviously not true. I mean, I know my accurate information seems suspect, but I have an insider source.”

“You do?” Barry asks. His head whips around to look at Cisco, who suddenly looks very busy cleaning the coffee machine and countertop, even whistling innocently.

“Well, he never tells me anything that useful.” Iris shrugs, and takes another sip of her coffee. She sees that Barry’s eyes are tracking the movement, and offers, “I couldn’t stay away from your coffee, no matter how much I embarrassed myself last time.”

Barry seems to shake himself, and then smiles. “You didn’t. I should’ve said something; I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid or anything. I was just interested in your honest opinion, I promise.”

The corners of her lips lift. It’s nice to have that confirmed, at least. “Okay then. Guess it’s safe to keep coming back.”

Barry nods. “Yeah, you should. I- I mean, we’re always happy to have regulars.” Cisco snorts, despite still only cleaning the milk jugs.

And she really thinks she might do that. As cute as Barry is, now she knows he’s unavailable, it’s easier to talk to him. She’d like to be friends with him. She does need a social life outside of the office, after all.

So, to her surprise, Iris really does keep coming back. Almost every other day, in fact, or as much as she can justify it. She gets to know Cisco, and Barry, as almost-friends. They smile when they see her walk in, they tease her about the latest Streak story, and they always remember her coffee order.

It’s nice.

-

_ISSUE #68: THE STREAK VISITS ANOTHER DIMENSION_

_THE STREAK: Where am I?_

_He comes to a stop, and finds himself in a city close to his own, yet not quite. The familiar building of CCPD is BRIGHT PINK, and a policewoman leaves the door with a LLAMA for a PARTNER!_

_Another panel shows cars with SQUARE wheels, and a bicycle with FEATHERS for handlebars._

_THE STREAK: This can’t be right. This is the weirdest DREAM I’ve ever had! Have I accidentally taken marijuana - or even SPEED?_

-

The next time Iris comes in to Star Coffee, she’s surprised to see Barry behind the counter, and the shop nearly empty. She frowns. “Where is everyone?”

Barry sighs visibly. “Starbucks have come up with a new sugary gimmick. It involves glitter, I’m not really sure.”

Iris pulls a face at the very thought. “Gross.”

“Thank you!” Barry exclaims in vindication. “And it’s probably putting the poor baristas through hell to make it.”

She comes closer to the counter. “What about Cisco and Caitlin?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. Iris ignores how the plaid fabric pulls with the movement. “I let them go home - there’s not much point for them even being here.”

“Well,” Iris offers. “I still like normal coffee.”

Barry’s smile is near blinding. “Yes, you do. Large with an extra shot?”

“Yes please.” He obligingly turns to start making it, the machine clacking and hissing. As he does so, Iris ponders aloud, “I didn’t even think about the fact you probably knew how to make coffee too.”

He turns a little, while his hands are still busy, to cast a scandalised expression her way. “You thought I owned a coffee shop and couldn’t make it?”

“I didn’t know!” Iris defends. “I mean, I didn’t think about it. And every time I’ve come in here, it’s always Cisco making the coffee.”

Barry makes a ‘pft’ sound. “I taught Cisco everything he knows. About coffee,” he adds, upon second thought.

“Let’s see what you’ve got then, grasshopper,” she teases.

He huffs, as if pained. “You know the grasshopper is the student.”

“Yeah, I do,” she says, grinning. “Now gimme coffee.” She makes grabby hands until he laughs, pouring the espresso shots into the mug and then handing her to her.

“There you go, you caffeine fiend.”

She shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.” But she doesn’t make any move to leave the counter. Like he said, there’s no-one else there. She’s actually doing him a favour by entertaining him. All perfectly innocent, and definitely nowhere near flirting.

“How’s work?” he asks, after she’s taken her first sip and made a gratifying hum of approval. His voice sounds a little strangled, but she doesn’t comment - maybe he’s coming down with a cold.

She twists her lips. “Fine, I suppose. Although, my dad found out about the death threat I got last week and went into total meltdown, like-”

“What?” Barry rears back, horror written all over his face. “You got a death threat? From who? Are you okay?”

“Just like that,” Iris finishes, smirking. “It’s fine. I get them every so often. People either really hate the Flash or really love him, and decide that I disagree with them for whatever reason.”

Barry shakes his head. “That’s not fair. They should- The Flash should stop them! Do you have names? Do you have police protection?”

“Barry!” Iris laughs, reaching out to put a calming hand over his on the counter. “Relax. There's no point bothering anyone. They’d just find out it’s from some fanboy who thinks I’m making fun of the Trickster.”

“Which you kind of are,” Barry points out.

“Yeah, kind of,” Iris admits. “But it’s fine. They never do anything. It’s empty threats.”

Barry still looks troubled. “It’s not fine, Iris.” It’s then that Iris realises her hand is still on top of his, and she quickly retracts it, clearing her throat awkwardly. Barry presses his lips together, and says, “If you’re ever in trouble, you call me, okay?”

She rolls her eyes. “Barry-”

“I mean it.” He starts looking frantically around, somehow finding a pen from somewhere and an old receipt. On the back of it, he scrawls a ten-digit number: his cell number, Iris realises with a small thrill. He pushes it towards her. “If you’re worried, or, I don’t know, whatever. Just, call me.”

He looks at her with such seriousness that she has to say, “Okay. Yeah, I will.”

“Okay,” he echoes. He seems relieved, and loses the intensity from his green eyes. She has no idea what to make of this whole encounter - yes, she’s friendly enough with him that she’d like to think he’d be against the idea of a fanatic axe-murdering her. But this seems a whole other level; one he should be reserving for his girlfriend. “You shouldn’t be getting threats. Especially just because you’re associated with the Flash.”

Iris’s lips curl minutely. “If only they knew I’d never even spoken to the Flash, huh?”

“Yeah.” Barry looks away. “Exactly.”

-

In fairness, perhaps Barry had reason to be worried. Because less than a week later, here Iris is, walking into an apartment block in the rougher edge of town to interview a possible witness for her investigation. All by herself, with no legal or journalistic permission. She’s armed with pepper spray, her notebook and her phone. It’s probably not her best idea.

She manages to get inside the lobby as one resident leaves, and then gets in the elevator. Of course her witness lives on the very top floor, and she presses the corresponding button as the doors ping shut.

She’d been looking through newspaper articles, and found the story on one of the girls who’d died from an overdose on the mysterious drug. There was a comment from a friend at the scene who’d simply said, “She wasn’t the type to take drugs. She knew her limits.” Then Iris had dug a little deeper into the shared CCPN files and found the original transcript of the interview with the friend, and their name. After that, it had been a simple case of finding and calling her: Tiffany Hertstein, who was surprisingly willing to talk.

“Something else is going on,” Tiffany had said. “Thank god someone actually seems interested.”

So here Iris was, at the agreed time and meeting Tiffany at her home. As she rides the elevator up the thirteen storeys, her mind races with possibilities. Even if she could get a name of the drug, Mason would be impressed. Maybe enough to take her seriously, or give her a promotion. She could start off with doing an article alongside the comic strip, and then prove herself. She could be a real journalist, not just a glorified pun-writer.

The elevator doors open with a slight stutter, giving away the age of the building. She steps forward, hoisting her bag more securely on her shoulder, and follows the straight hallway to the apartment. It’s at the very end, number 1351.

She knocks. “Tiffany?” She calls, when there’s no reply. “It’s Iris West!”

Still, no answer. She knocks again. She double checks her phone – the email from Tiffany clearly says to meet at five pm, apartment 1351. The address is right as well; Iris had already double-checked that.

Iris raps her fist against the door one last time, as hard as possible. As she does so, she notices the door gives a little. Curious, she turns the doorknob – to her surprise, it’s open. Now, she’s more than a little worried. “Tiffany?” She calls, and begins to push the door open.

A few things happen in the space of a second. She hears a weird click sound, loud in the silence of the hallway. She notices a thin, red wire connected between the other side of the door latch to the neighbouring wall.

And she remembers her fathers’ stories from his brief stint on the CCPD bomb squad.

Instinct takes over. She immediately rears back, letting the doorknob twist back to its resting position. Another click resounds, but she’s already running, hoisting her bag to cover the back of her head.

Then, the apartment explodes.

She hits the floor with a cry of pain as the force of the explosion propels her forward. The noise is deafening. Pain blossoms on her temple from hitting the ground.

Everything goes dark.

When she re-opens her eyes, the first thing she feels is the heat. It’s unbearable, and dry. She pushes herself up – her throat is scratchy and she feels bruised all over.

She squints – at first, she assumes her vision is fucked from the fall. But then she realises the reason everything seems hazy is because it is. Smoke fills the air. She gets to her feet, somehow, and staggers forward. She can hear the crackling of the fire, and feel the heat licking her back.

She needs to get lower. She needs to find a way out. She tries to remember everything she knows about fire safety, but panic is rising in her chest. She’s thirteen floors up, for god’s sake, and no one knows she’s here.

She can vaguely hear yelling and screaming. Is the fire department here yet? Someone ahead of her is running out of their apartment – the fire alarm is wailing, and she’s faintly aware of water from the sprinklers, but they’re having little effect.

Iris reaches the stairs and starts to go down – but they’re the main ones, not the fire exit, and she has to run across another hallway to reach the next set. She makes it down one flight and runs for the next. Smoke rises, right? Then why does it feel like it’s getting thicker?

She makes it down two flights, and she can’t hear people anymore. She doesn’t know whether that means they’re all out, or something far more terrible.

She’s running down the hallway of the tenth floor, when she hears a terrible cracking. And then, in front of her, the floor above seems to cave in. She’d guess it’s the exact spot where Tiffany’s apartment was as it all crumbles down in front of her. She skids to a stop, panting. It’s completely blocked off her way down, and brought the fire down to this floor.

No time to panic. She has to get out of here. She runs in the opposite direction – at the other end of the hallway is a window to the outside. As she runs, she passes a fire extinguisher, and she grabs it, only slowing down a little to do so. Just a few feet before the window, she stops and uses her momentum to fling the fire extinguisher at the wall. Confirming her theory that this building violates a ridiculous number of safety codes, it goes straight through the glass and outside.

She rushes forward, and actually nearly tips over the side, catching herself with her hands on the sill before she topples straight through. The wind whips her hair away as she leans over, looking down. She can faintly hear the sound of sirens, but she can’t afford to wait for them, not when the fire feels so close, and the building seems so unstable.

Below, about two storeys down, there’s a fire escape landing – if she can get to that, maybe she can make it down. She takes a deep breath. The ground seems to be zooming further and further away as her vertigo threatens to overcome her.

But she doesn’t have another option. She readies herself, and pushes herself over, using her hands to cling to the windowsill. She’s dangling on the outside of a building, ten storeys up – her father is going to kill her.

She looks down – the fire escape seems a lot further away now – and lets go.

She falls.

The crack of lightning fills the air, and strong arms wrap around her. Wind flies past her – she instinctively clutches, and her hands find a pair of sturdy shoulders.

Before she can even process what’s happening, she’s being carefully deposited onto hard tarmac. She opens her eyes.

It’s the Flash.

His arms are curled around her as he carefully sets her on the ground. His face vibrates, and his voice comes out distorted. “Are you okay?”

She nods; but before she can even say thank you, he’s gone again, a zig zag of lightning following his path.

She gets to her feet, and takes stock of her surroundings. In front of her, she can see the burning building she was just in; the top five storeys at least are now burning, fires curling up through the windows. She thinks she’s in shock, and briefly considers sitting back down on the tarmac again. She’s on a rooftop of a nearby apartment block, a little shorter than Tiffany’s.

At the reminder of Tiffany, Iris’ stomach churns. Is Tiffany dead? Or did she set the bomb? Is anyone else hurt?

But as the fire engines arrive, she can see a huge mass of the residents standing by the front of the building. And around the corner, just out of sight of most of them, stands a blue and silver cloaked figure, holding up her hands and blasting ice at the fire. Killer Frost, Iris recognises. Hardly living up to her name.

Then her attention is diverted as red lightning flashes again: and there’s another resident being set down by the masked hero. It’s an elderly man, who looks tender on his feet. There’s no way he would’ve made his own way out of the building.

Iris has never much cared about the Flash before more than a source of annoyance and inspiration at differing times. But now, confronted with the truth of his action, she all at once understands the fascination. He really is a hero.

She reaches for her phone to take a photo – but then he’s gone. And then suddenly, he’s right in front of her. She startles, takes a step back.

“You’re here,” she says, dumbly. Then she shakes herself. “Is everyone okay? There was a bomb – is anyone hurt?”

“What were you doing in there?” He demands instead of answering her questions, voice vibrating. Then he seems to actually hear her. “What do you mean there was a bomb?”

“In Tiffany Hertstein’s apartment!” Iris exclaims. “I need to get to the police. I need to tell them. She’s part of the wider drug investigation, she must be.”

“Iris, wait-”

That makes her stop. “How do you know my name?” She frowns. “And how do you know I wasn’t living in that building?”

There’s a split-second where he seems like he might reply – but then he’s gone, as suddenly as he appeared.

Iris narrows her eyes. If he thinks he’s getting away from her questions that easily, he clearly doesn’t know her as well as he seems to.

-

_ISSUE #13: ROBIN HOOD VISITS_

_The murderous ROBIN HOOD watches from his rooftop hiding place as THE STREAK helps an old lady carry her groceries to her car. His dark green leather helps camouflage him in the city._

_ROBIN HOOD: Soon, I will have my control over these people. Conquering NIGHTINGALE CITY with my reign of terror is not enough to vanquish my blood thirst. I must KILL THE STREAK._

_Below, THE STREAK is blissfully unaware of the evil that lurks._

_Read next week’s issue to see vigilante versus hero, murky green versus red and gold, THE STREAK VERSUS ROBIN HOOD._

-

She goes to the police, but even when she namedrops her father, they don’t take her seriously. “Let the fire department do their job,” is all the information they’ll give her. She has a strong suspicion that they know more than they’re letting on; but even if she was a real reporter, she doubts they’d be willing to enclose parts of an ongoing investigation.

CCPN does receive news of the dead from the building: and Tiffany is the only one. Iris’ gut sinks when she hears confirmation of what she’d been suspecting.

So she’s back to square one, almost. But it’s more than her article now. Just a day ago, Iris had been thinking about this just like a story, a way to get a promotion like doing an extra shift. But now, someone was dead. A whole building block had been burned down. This is real, and serious – she has to get to the bottom of it.

In the meantime, she still has an actual job, and life. Mason emails her with the brief for this week’s issue of The Sensational Streak, but Iris feels her throat close up when she reads it.

_West,_

_Make sure the streak saves people from a burning building. Maybe blame scorcher? Or create another fire-based villain, although god knows we’ve got enough of those rocking about. Just make it relevant, as always._

_Mason._

The smell of burning concrete feels very real all of a sudden. Iris has to get out of the office – she mutters something about working outside to Linda, though she rather obviously leaves behind her bag. She just needs some fresh air.

Somehow, her legs carry her all the way to Star Coffee. She walks inside in a bit of a daze, just wanting the safe familiarity. It’s quiet, thank the stars, and she quickly sinks down into one of the chairs near the front. She fiddles with the ring on her middle finger, twisting it this way and that as she remains lost in thought.

If Tiffany did know something, who had motive to cover it up? And of those people, who had the power to create such a diversion. This wasn’t just murder and destroying evidence, this was literally burning down an entire building just to cover their tracks.

The sound of crockery on wood startles her, and she comes back to reality with it. A mug of steaming coffee is on the table in front of her – she follows the arm holding it to see Caitlin. Iris fumbles in her pockets, and realises that with her purse, she forgot her wallet. “Uh-“ she begins.

But Caitlin speaks over her, with a quietly gentle voice, “Are you okay?” Her gaze is piercing, and for a jolting second, Iris thinks Caitlin knows about her involvement last night. Then Caitlin continues, “You have a bump on your forehead.”

“Oh.” Iris self-consciously reaches for it – she thought she’d put enough make-up on this morning to cover up the bruise from her fall. She chuckles self-deprecatingly. “I just tripped over last night over my own footstool. I’m an idiot.”

Caitlin seems to scrutinise her for a moment more, and then nods. “Hope you feel better.” And then she walks away, back to the main counter.

It’s the most conversation Iris has ever had with the woman, and Iris is left feeling as if she’d been seen straight through. But there’s no way Caitlin could know really how Iris got her bruise. Even at the police station, Iris had just said one of her witness residents had spotted the bomb wire, her paranoia getting the better of her.

She takes a sip of the coffee – it’s her usual. Her gaze darts to Caitlin, but she’s busy refilling coffee beans into the machine. Iris is rather confused.

She busies herself with her phone, checking if any other news reports are giving different information. But the police seem to be giving the same lie out, that it was a gas leak. The landlord was being prosecuted for negligence; Iris would feel bad about that if it wasn’t so clear the building had major problems.

When she’s finished scrolling, and finished her drink, she gets up and goes to the counter. “Hey, I left my purse at the office,” she begins.

Caitlin waves a hand dismissively. Iris is even surprised to see a small smile. “It’s okay. On the house.”

Iris balks. “Are you sure? I can-“

“Really.”

To protest anymore would probably be rude, so Iris lets Caitlin see on her face just how grateful she is. Today, of all days, she really needed a small sliver of kindness. Maybe Caitlin could already read that in her eyes. “Thank you. Genuinely.”

Caitlin’s lips curl just minutely, and then she goes back to her usual, more serious expression. “The bump will go down in a few days. But maybe be careful. Footstools can be dangerous.”

“I will,” Iris promises, almost jokingly. But even as she waves a goodbye and walks back to work, she can’t shake the suspicion that Caitlin was warning her about something else entirely.  

-

She doesn’t go back to Star Coffee until she’s sure her forehead bump has gone down and she’s invested in a heavy-duty concealer. She goes in when she knows it’s busy, around the mid-afternoon mark, but even still, Barry manages to catch her at the till.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking far too concerned for a friend who hears about another friend being a klutz. What’s stranger, though, is how it makes warmth flutter in Iris’s gut to know he cares.

“I’m fine,” she says. And really, she is. Only a nightmare about fire every other day at the most.

He doesn’t seem convinced. “I told you that you can call me if you’re in trouble.”

“Barry,” Iris laughs. “I’m not going to call you because I can’t be bothered to turn on the light to get water at night.”

He twists his lips, but resolves something apparently as he asks, “Your usual?”

“To sit in, please,” she says, and holds out her credit card to be swiped.

But he waves it aside. “On the house.”

“Barry-“ she tries to protest.

He smiles. “Come on, I hear Caitlin treated you. Can’t have you playing favourites, now can we?”

She rolls her eyes, but obligingly goes to sit down. She doesn’t have to wait long before her dad walks through the door, just as they’d arranged to meet. She stands to greet him, pulling him into a quick hug. “Hey, dad,” she says.

“Baby girl,” he replies, pressing a kiss into her temple. He pulls away. “Now, you’ve promised me the best java in Central City. What do you recommend?”

“I always get a latte,” she replies honestly. “But just ask, they know what they’re talking about.”

Sure enough, within a few moments he’s back with a huge mug. “It’s a salted caramel cappuccino,” he says, sounding pleased. “That Cisco guy recommended it to me.”

“Sounds good,” she replies easily. “So, how are you? How’s work? How’s Cecile?”

Joe laughs. “Maybe if you visited more, you wouldn’t have so many questions at once.”

She pulls a face. “I’m busy.”

“You’re in the same city as me,” Joe counters, with that classic parent ‘I know I’m right’ expression. “I swear I see Wally more than you, and he’s in another state for college.”

“I have a full-time job. Wally comes back to get his laundry done,” Iris protests. “The paper keeps me occupied, you know that. I’ll come for next Sunday dinner, I promise.”

“Uh huh,” her father says, as if he hasn’t obviously just utilised a successful guilt trip. “So how is work? Tell me what’s going on with the Streak these days; I didn’t get a chance to pick up the last issue.”

“You don’t need to,” she refutes.

He frowns at that. “I want to support you, of course I do. Anyway, I’m building quite the collection.”

“No, I mean,” she lets out a huff of laughter. “Dad, you live it. You see the Flash more than I do, you don’t need the comic book as well.”

“I thought your comic was about the Streak,” he replies with a perfect poker face.

“Fine,” she says, because for legal reasons she can’t actually argue that. Although if the Flash ever wants to take them to court over copyright and libel, he probably needs to take off his mask to hire a lawyer, and she doubts that’s happening anytime soon. “Okay, well, do you remember the Deceptor?”

Her dad pauses. “Um…”

“He was from quite a few issues ago, probably about six months ago?” At his continued blank expression, she sighs and adds, defeated, “He’s based on the Trickster in real life.”

“Oh!” Joe winces. “Yeah, sorry, I do remember. The Deceptor as well, not just the Trickster. Sorry, honey.”

“It’s fine,” she says, smiling and waving a dismissive hand. “Anyway, the storyline is that there’s a new Deceptor out to get the Streak. Basically like a groupie of the original Deceptor.”

“Like when we brought in the Trickster’s son?”

“Exactly,” Iris clicks her fingers. “But I’m trying to convince the publishers to let me make Deceptor Junior a bit more of a problem. Like, there was loads of potential in his storyline. I’ve got so many ideas for his emotional arc, you know?”

“Didn’t the actual Trickster Junior fall over his own cape?” Her dad points out thoughtfully.

Iris deflates. “Well, yeah. But that’s really boring, and we already had a comic relief episode a few issues ago with the Toilet Tester.”

She has to fight back a shudder at the memory - her boss had come up with that one, and had been so pleased with the idea of a plumbing-based metahuman that she hadn’t been able to argue. It had been during a week when the Flash had been mysteriously vacant - Iris had begun to hope that he had retired, and the Streak comic would soon follow suit.

“I managed to get all my paperwork done that week,” Joe remembers happily.

“Yeah, well,” Iris looks away, embarrassed that she’d even brought up the idea. Maybe it’s daft of her to try to add ambitious storytelling, but if she’s putting her name on the thing every week, she’d like to be proud of it. “I mean, if I had my way I’d just kill off the Streak.”

“What?” Joe exclaims, almost dropping his mug full to the brim of coffee in surprise.

But his shock is echoed, and Iris turns her head in surprise to see Barry standing there, looking equally horrified. “You’d seriously kill off the Fl- the Streak?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she says slyly, just to provoke them. She’s pretty sure she would never, ever be allowed, not even to replace the character. “Maybe have the Streak as a legacy and have a girl take up the mantle or something.”

“But-” Barry coughs awkwardly. “I mean, it just seems a little mean.”

“Mean?” she repeats and raises one eyebrow at his interest. “Why?”

“Well, just seems a bit drastic to kill off your eponymous character.” He shrugs, pretending to be casual in a way so unsubtle it makes Iris smile. Maybe Mr Allen is more invested in the comic than she thought.

“Don’t worry,” she assures them both, because her dad still looks a little heartbroken. “I wouldn’t really. I don’t think I’m allowed to, anyway.”

“Good,” her dad says, firmly. “See to it that you don’t. The actual Flash helps me out, I don’t think I could bear it even if his alter ego died.”

At that, Barry’s ears tinge pink for some strange reason, and he quickly walks away, muttering something about needing to check on other customers.

-

_ISSUE #89: MAYHEM MONKEY UNLEASHED_

_A car flies through the air, and THE STREAK dodges it just in time. A ROAR pierces the air, and MAYHEM MONKEY jumps onto a lamppost, beating his chest._

_THE STREAK: This is why I’m against ANIMAL TESTING._

_He zooms forward and jumps at his APE ADVERSARY, but he’s too late. MAYHEM MONKEY swings away, using the city as easily as he would a jungle. Along the way, he grabs a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN who screams as she is lifted into the air._

_THE STREAK: No! Stop!_

_But MAYHEM MONKEY doesn’t listen. He has no time for the human language. He leaps across rooftops so fast, even THE STREAK struggles to catch up. He starts climbing up a skyscraper, still carrying the poor woman._

_THE STREAK has never run VERTICALLY before. But he must! He crouches, and prepares himself._

_THE STREAK: I’m never going to the ZOO again._

-

A few nights later, Iris racing through the backstreets of Central City, following her GPS. About five minutes ago, news pages had been set alight with the breaking news of a drug bust gone wrong near the docks. If her research is right, the drug in question is the one she’s been researching - she needs to get there as soon as possible if she wants any insider information.

She skids around a corner - she’s a street away. As she runs, lightning crackles and runs past her - the Flash. She’s caught between elation at his appearance and an increased sense of urgency; if he’s here to sort out the fight, she won’t have much time to collect information or footage.

Luckily, she’s there in the next moment, just in time for the sounds of gunshots through the air. She ducks around a shipping crate as policemen shout and duck behind the doors of their squad cars. She takes her camera out of her messenger bag and starts clicking away. They’re at the industrial part of the docks, with the night sky reflecting on the wet ground and the sound of shots and shouting piercing the air.

She creeps further, around one shipping crate and towards the river edge. If she could get some evidence, even just a sliver of the drug-

There’s a ping as a bullet ricochets off a shipping crate to her side and she ducks instinctively, pulse wild and loud in her ears. She pauses, but it seems a misfire, and no-one seems to have noticed her yet.

This is really quite a stupid idea, she thinks, even if she continues forward, sticking to the shadows as much as she can. She can hear yelling, and every so often, lightning flares up at random places. She doesn’t have much time, and suddenly, the shooting stops altogether with one last yelp a few feet away.

Here’s her chance. She hurries forward, determined, and-

But before she can do anything else, two arms grab her and she’s weightless. Wind whips past her. Her feet touch the ground again, and she pushes her hair away from her face to see she’s suddenly in an alleyway, and the Flash himself is standing before her.

“Hey!” she exclaims, though she’s too breathless to be truly outraged. “You know, I’d rate you terribly on Uber. This is nowhere near my destination.”

He folds his arms. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

“It’s a free country,” she defends, quickly stuffing her camera back in her bag. “I was on the drug hunt.”

“Weeper is none of your concern-” the Flash starts, and her eyes widen.

She points. “That’s the name of the drug, isn’t it?”

Despite the blur of his face, even she can see how he’s caught off-guard. “No,” he says, but it’s a pathetic attempt at lying.

She grabs her phone and starts typing. Weeper. With that, she can go undercover. Now she knows what she’s asking for. “This saves me so much time,” she says, enjoying the superhero’s discomfort perhaps just a little too much.

“Wait,” he tries. “Iris-”

That makes her look up. She’s giddy with the breakthrough in her case, and her confidence makes her tease, “That’s the second time you’ve used my name, _Flash_.”

She steps forward, but he’s gone, lightning flashing. For a moment, she’s disappointed with a vehemence that surprises her, but then his voice sounds from behind her and she spins. “I’m a superhero,” he says. “I know things.”

She barks out a laugh. “Sure,” she says. “But I thought super-speed didn’t come with telepathy.”

“It doesn’t,” he allows.

“Then how do you know about me?” She tilts her head. “You stalking me, Flash?”

“You’re the one who writes about me,” he points out.

She grins. There we go. “I write about the Sensational Streak,” she replies glibly.

Another flash of lightning, and he’s no longer in front of her. But then she feels him, close enough behind her so she can feel the heat radiating from him. She doesn’t dare move, forgets to breathe. Then he speaks, low and across the shell of her ear, “This isn’t sensational enough for you?”

And then he really is gone, running away even as she spins after him. She lets out a breathless laugh, her stomach fluttering. If only she could write about this in her comics.

-

_ISSUE #131 - VORTEX ARRIVES_

_THE STREAK is pinned down in the SAMUROID’S grip. He squirms for freedom, but the robot is too strong! He wriggles, and vibrates. But it’s imposssible! He is trapped between the SAMUROID’S SHARP SWORDS!_

_But suddenly! There appears a swirling hole in the air, like a black hole to another universe. Through it, a man JUMPS and lands. His leather costume is colourful whilst pragmatic. He holds his glove-clad hands up as the hole behind him closes. From his hands, he shoots BLUE ENERGY which RIPS through the SAMUROID’S metal body!_

_The SAMUROID erupts everywhere._

_THE STREAK sits up._

_THE STREAK: Who are you?_

_The mysterious universe-traveller adjusts his sunglasses. He speaks._

_VORTEX: Think of me as an EXTRA-DIMENSIONAL HITCHHIKER, buddy. And your new FRIEND, if you’ll have me. I’m VORTEX._

-

Just as her dad claims, Wally does come back home quite frequently. He stays with their father, gets through his laundry and enjoys the free food, usually texting Iris pictures of him going through her bedroom and generally being annoying. This time, however, Iris opens her apartment door that evening to see her brother standing their with his suitcase. She frowns. “What’s going on?” Not that she isn’t pleased to see him, of course.

Wally rolls his eyes. “Cecile’s staying over tonight.”

“Say no more,” Iris steps back and gestures for Wally to come in. Joe has just started dating the lovely DA, Cecile, and his children are honestly very happy that he’s back in the dating game. What they’re less happy about is the apparent vigour and… volume in which Joe and Cecile celebrate their newfound relationship. “You’re having the couch, though.”

Wally pulls a face. “It’s half the size of me.”

“Then fold your legs,” she rebukes. He walks into the living room and pulls an eyebrow at the state she’d left it in: Chinese takeaway and two empty beer bottles litter her coffee table while the TV plays sitcom re-runs. “Shut up,” she says pre-emptively.

Wally shakes his head. “Dad was right, you really don’t have a life.”

“He said that?”

“In so many words,” he replies, which is a 'no’. He leans down to pick up her notebook in which she’d been jotting down ideas for her investigation, and she snatches it away.

“I have a life,” she argues. “I’m plenty fun.”

“Said nobody fun, ever,” he points out. He looks around. “When’s the last time you left your apartment not for work?”

Iris chooses not to answer that - and not just because she can’t remember. Refusing to be shamed by her little brother, known to re-use underwear for three days in a row, she folds her arms. “I was planning on going out tonight, actually. But Linda cancelled on me.”

“Linda?” Wally’s ears perk up on that - he’s had a crush on her friend since meeting her a few years ago. Then he narrows his eyes. “You’re in your pyjamas.”

“Well,” she sticks to her story like a limpet. “Now you’re here, the plan’s back on, just you and me. Let’s go to a bar - you’re twenty-one now, right?”

“As of three months,” he confirms.  He raises his eyebrows. “You’re serious? We’ve never gone to a bar together.”

Iris claps her hands together. “The tradition starts now.” Then she pauses. “I’m going to need, like, an hour to get ready though.”

Wally snorts, and lands on her couch, reaching for the leftovers of her food. “Take your time,” he says. “You’ll need a while to remember what type of clothes people actually wear to bars.” He snickers at his own joke, and she reaches over to ruffle his hair, despite his protests. As much as he teases, she is terribly fond of him. And this will be good for her, he’s right; she barely goes anywhere except work, Star Coffee, and her own apartment. She examines her wardrobe, and pulls out her slinkiest black dress. Maybe she’ll even meet someone cute tonight.

They get to Jitters a few hours later, having been sidetracked by a fierce Mariokart competition and then a quick pre-game dance to Stevie Wonder. But now, they’ve made it, and they push their way to the bar itself while music plays, just loud enough to build an atmosphere without drowning out conversation.

Wally hails the bartender for two vodka-cokes, but it’s a Friday night, and it’s busy. Iris leans her elbows on the top, content to wait. “How’s uni?” She asks. Then she snaps her fingers as she remembers. “Oh, and how’s Tina? You were dating her, right?”

But Wally’s twisting lips says it all. “Uh,” he says. “That didn’t actually work out. I didn’t tell you and dad, but she was actually my professor.”

Iris’ eyes widen as their drinks arrive and Wally pays. She drags him away from the bar, and hisses, “Oh my god, Wally!”

“I know,” he groans. “It was stupid. But I don’t know. I thought it was a mature relationship. And she’s really hot, and we spent so many evenings in the lab together.”

Iris has no idea how to react. For now, all she can say, a little in shock, “It’s probably a good thing you haven’t told Dad that.”

Wally nods emphatically. “Right?”

“Wow,” Iris says, almost to herself. “My brother, The Graduate.”

He elbows her. “Shut up - let’s find a booth to sit in.”

“Sure,” Iris agrees, as they walk to the edges of the venue. “We’ll even keep an eye out for some age-appropriate girls.”

He opens his mouth, presumably to tell her to shut up, but then something catches his eye over her head. “Do you know them?”

“Who?” Iris spins to follow his gaze, and almost can’t believe her eyes. Caitlin, Cisco, a woman she doesn’t recognise and Barry are all sat in a booth, staring at her. As she notices them, Cisco lifts up his arm and starts waving her. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Let’s go sit with them, then,” Wally says before she can stop him, bounding over.

The interior of Jitters is all mood lighting and golden lighting, with electro-swing music in the background. It’s the last place Iris would expect to see the employees of Star Coffee - maybe their friend brought them?

Iris feels her stomach sink as they walk over, and the woman becomes clearer and prettier, with brown curls and doll-like features. A completely irrational fear builds in her that this is the illustrious Kara Iris has heard so little about. But she manages to force a smile as they get closer.

“Hi guys,” Iris greets. “Nice to see you out in the real world.”

“Same goes to you,” Cisco greets. Even Caitlin smiles a little. Barry looks a little shell-shocked; maybe Wally is right, maybe she is known as such a hermit that her arrival in a bar is so unexpected.

But Barry seems to shake himself, and he clambers out of the booth, gesturing. “Come, sit with us,” he says. Then he pauses. “Uh, unless you’re meeting other people. Or leaving. Uh.”

“Nah, we were looking for some of Iris’ friends,” Wally says, easily sliding in next to the mystery woman. “I was starting to believe they didn’t exist.”

Iris sighs in defeat as Cisco laughs. “Thanks, Wally. Everyone, this is my dearest brother.” She sits down next to him, and most determinedly doesn’t react when Barry slides in after her, hip to hip with the little space available. (She doesn’t move, though.)

“I’m Cisco,” he introduces. “This is Caitlin, Barry, and Jessie.”

Iris breathes a silent sigh of relief. Not Kara.

Not that she cares. Obviously. But maybe she lets herself relax, and lean just a little closer to Barry. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt this time, and the lights make his cheekbones just ridiculous. And she’s a little tipsy - or at least enough to mentally excuse her actions.

“How do you all know each other?” Wally asks - though Iris notices his eyes don’t leave Jessie’s.

“We work together, at Star Coffee,” Cisco gestures between the three employees. “And then Jessie is, uh, visiting from out of town.”

“We’re friends with her dad,” Barry adds.

“And we know Iris because of her loyalty,” Cisco teases.

“Let’s not bring up my coffee addiction,” Iris protests.

Wally scoffs. “Like I didn’t already know - during her SATs, Dad brought decaf and she actually sniffed it out,” he tells the rest of them as Iris’s cheeks heat. “Like, found it in the cupboard and threw it out. Another time, the machine wasn’t working one morning and she just stirred the ground coffee into cold water.”

“Okay, it was a stressful time,” Iris defends as the others laugh. “And cold coffee is fashionable now!”

“Not like that, it isn’t,” Barry grins. She elbows him but he catches it, and then…doesn’t let go. It should be strange, in the few seconds he keeps hold of her elbow, but no one else notices, and she revels in his touch. But she pulls back, and resolves to slow down the drinking. Down, girl, she thinks.

“We’re also huge fans of her work,” Cisco adds, with a wink.

From there, the conversation quickly spirals into teasing and joking. Cisco applauds Iris’ introduction of Vortex, and tells her he wants to meet Linda, who apparently made the character ‘just as handsome as the real-life Vibe’. Caitlin laughs quietly and even contributes that her favourite issue was the one with ‘Mayhem Monkey’. At some point, whilst he laughs and sips easily from his beer bottle, Barry stretches his arm over the back of the seats, resting it behind Iris. At another point, Iris stops sitting so rigidly and leans back into the warmth of his body.

Then Wally claps his hands together, jolting her out of her happy little state. “I need a refill,” he announces.

Iris laughs. “My round. Anyone else want anything?”

“I’ll go with you,” Barry says, casually. He slides out and offers his hands to help Iris out of the booth. She doesn’t need it but she takes it anyway, keeps her hand slipped in his for a second longer than she should. Cisco makes a gesture in her peripheral vision but she doesn’t see it, already walking to the bar.

She and Barry find a place and wait, neither in a rush. Teasingly, she taps his bicep. “I see you’re wearing your nice plaid tonight.”

He smiles. “It’s ironed and everything.” His cheeks flush a little in the warmth of the bar. “You, uh, look really nice.”

It’s true, she does, even as she looks down at herself bashfully. Her dress fits her perfectly, snug and tight and black. Her legs glisten in the gold lighting of the bar, and she’s wearing red lipstick that always makes her feel like a movie star.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve barely gotten a chance to wear this dress since I bought it.”

“Work?” he presumes knowingly.

She shrugs. “Something like that.” In truth, she’s probably just been making excuses. Clubbing was never really her scene. The last time she’d worn this dress, she’d still been dating- well. No point thinking of that now. She gestures to him just as he flags down the bartender and orders a beer and another vodka-coke. “You guys must be busy with Star Coffee as well.”

“Yeah,” he admits. “It takes up most of my life. Coffee and- uh,” he seems to stop himself. He gives her a weak smile. “And more coffee.”

“You’re there all day?”

“I do the opening and closing, usually,” he admits. His smile turns a little sly. “I’m the fastest at it, so it makes sense.”

She opens her mouth to say something else as their drinks arrive and she picks up hers. Barry’s already handing over his credit card before she can protest. But then someone jostles into her, and her drink sloshes over the rim. It lands on her thigh, splashing the fabric and then trickling down her skin.

She startles and yelps a little with the cold sensation; both she and Barry quickly grab some napkins. He dabs them on her thigh quickly, and she can tell the moment they both realise the intimacy of his touch as his movement slows.

She sees the way his eyes travel, sees the way his eyes darken. He straightens and is closer than he was before. It could be accidental. But her small step forward into his space is definitely deliberate as she looks up at him. His nose is a little pink from the sun, and he looks just edible.

She thinks it wouldn’t be that bad of a thing, would it? Just one night. She thinks he wants that too, as his hand leaves his beer bottle, reaches for her forearm on the bar counter-

Her phone buzzes violently in her purse with an oncoming text and she jumps as she feels it against her hip. “Sorry,” she mumbles, fishing around for it and pulling it out. On her lock screen, it reads:

_UNKNOWN NUMBER: u want to know abt tiff? 376 mostyn st. 10 mins._

Tiffany.

“Everything okay?” Barry asks. She realises she hasn’t moved for second too long to be normal.

She shakes herself and plasters on a bright smile. “Yeah. Uh, one of my friends is in the bar too. I’m just going to-” she gestures to some random place and walks quickly off before he can ask any other questions. She puts him out of her mind, forces down her desire and rising guilt (oh god, Kara), and walks straight out of the door. She texts Wally as she hails a cab.

ME: gone home, feeling ill, do you still have spare keys to mine? Tell the others an excuse plz.

WALLY: I’m telling cisco u had explosive diarrhoea

ME: i’m gonna get a smaller couch for just when you stay over.

Mostyn Street is luckily only a few minutes away in a cab, even in evening traffic. She makes the cab stop a few blocks away from the exact address, and climbs out after paying. She doesn’t have her camera, and she’s in four-inch stiletto heels and a teeny-tiny dress. But the text message meant something - she was getting closer, and she owed it to Tiffany to see this through.

She finds the right number, and stares up at the building. Mostyn Street is already a quiet one, but this building looks basically abandoned, with a For Rent sign in the window next to a flyer for a travelling circus that came in 2015. It doesn’t exactly fill her with hope.

She doesn’t have much time left on the clock before her informant will presumably leave, and she doesn’t want to spend the time waiting outside. She nudges the door but it’s bolted shut, and dusty grime coats her palm from where she tried the door knob.

Next idea, then. She goes around the side of the block, and finds a back-entrance, like a fire-exit. This looks more frequently used, and when she pushes, the door gives a little. She steps back, and then with all her force, leaps into the door with her shoulder. It gives, and opens enough for her to squeeze through despite the joints of the door stiff from such infrequent use.

She uses the flashlight on her phone to see. It’s a large, empty space, with open wires falling from the ceiling and hunks of floor missing. She’d guess it used to be some kind of a shop - but then she breathes in and recoils from the rank smell. Maybe a restaurant, judging from the leftover meat stench.

She checks her phone: exactly ten minutes from the time she received the text. There’s no-one here.

Frustrated, Iris sweeps her flashlight over the entire space; then she notices something, near the far wall. She frowns, stepping over some fallen concrete and walking closer. Her flashlight illuminates the few feet in front of her.

The smell is _awful_ , here.

Her phone slips from her slack grip as soon as she registers what the shape is, and where the smell is coming from.

She rushes forward, scraping her knees as she lands on the concrete, reaching out, gagging, hyperventilating.

She rolls the body over, and slaps a hand over her scream as its lifeless eyes turn to her.

-

She calls 911 on instinct, reporting the address, her name and her incident in a gormless tone only a little bit shaken. She can’t move, can’t even stand up. She hears the sirens and then the voices, and then they’re muscling their way through.

“Ma’am,” the voice calls, a real flashlight falling over her and casting shadows from her tautly-held body. “Please, we need you to- oh. Iris.” Iris turns - she must look a real state, with tear tracks in her make-up and her face sooty from the dust in the room. Hardly the prized daughter of the famous Joe West.

It’s Officer Lahey - she’d always been nice to Iris. She’d always take her for lunch if her dad was too busy, or give her boy advice when her crush of the week was pissing her off. Now, however, she is all professional. “Iris, hon, I need you to step away so we can examine the body. Then, we’re going to take you back to the station so we can get your statement and fingerprints, okay?”

Iris tells them everything - she’s too in shock to think of a cover story even if she wanted to. It’s night, so her dad’s off-duty. Which means she’s at the station for about five minutes before he comes barreling into the bullpen with a face like thunder demanding, “Iris? _Iris?_ Where the hell is my daughter?”

It takes a few hours to get everything sorted before she can go home. She gives her statement four times, repeats that she has no idea who the body is, or who texted her. She tells them about Tiffany Herstein, and the text message she received.  She has to give up her phone as well, though not before she notices the three texts from her brother.

_WALLY: barry looks sad tht u left_

_WALLY: are u that close with jessie?_

_WALLY: so I’ve gone home with jessie. don’T WAIT UPPP_

Then her dad drives her back to his home, where Cecile is waiting with hot cocoa. “Dad-” she tries, as they get through the front door.

He holds up a finger. “Don’t. We will have this conversation tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” Now, he rounds on her, with the kind of anger she thought he’d left behind when she first missed curfew or crashed her car into the curb that one time. “What, Iris, exactly did you not know? Did you not know about lying to the police about crucial evidence? Or did you not realise following an investigation about murder might lead you to more murder?”

Her eyes water. The worst part is, she knows she kind of deserves this. But she also feels a sense of indignation rising up in her, making her cheeks heat with anger. “I was trying to help!”

“No, you were trying to play a game you don’t belong in!” he counters. “You wanted to prove you could handle a big-shot case. You wanted a promotion.”

“Joe-” Cecile tries to diffuse, but it’s too far gone.

“No, this needs to be over.” Her father demands. “You write _comic books_ , Iris, you don’t solve murder cases.”

That one hurts. Her father has always managed to see straight through her, and this time, he’s cut down to the bone. It’s the police academy argument all over again: he’ll never believe in her, never believe she can keep herself safe, never mind help anyone else.

Her eyes fall to the floor. “I’m sorry, Dad,” she says, not meaning a word. “You’re right. I was caught up and I was being stupid. I’ll stick to writing comic books.”

He sighs. “Iris-”

She stalks past, feeling just a smidge guilty for the abandoned hot cocoa Cecile is still awkwardly holding. “It’s been a long night. I’m going to bed.”

She storms up the stairs. The tears she was expecting don’t come - instead, she’s filled with a new resolve. She wipes off the remnants of her make-up and wraps her hair. She changes into shorts and a hoodie, and turns off her bedroom light so her dad thinks she’s sleeping.

And then, she goes through her second phone, a burner one that only just has text messaging, a calendar, and a camera. The phone she’d managed to hide from the officers in her dress. She goes through the photos she took with shaking hands, using her other phone flashlight to illuminate the face, key pieces of evidence. A young woman; dyed red hair; inexpensive clothes.

Maybe she should stick to writing comic books. Maybe she did start this with only visions of a promotion. But there’s two dead bodies now, since she started looking, and their weight feels heavy.

She’s not giving up now.

-

_ISSUE#1 - THE STREAK LIVES_

_A CITY SKYLINE. It’s night. We zoom in on a man from behind as he walks down an unnamed street. His hands in his pockets, he has unruly blond hair and he wears a suit jacket. His phone rings._

_We pivot, and see him from the front as he answers the phone. Handsome, with brown eyes and a strong jaw. He’s in decent shape, but no more than that. His tie is dishevelled - he is walking from a long day of work. He sighs. “Hello, Ingrid.”_

_From the phone, a speech bubble._

_INGRID: Tim! Where are you? You need to get to shelter!_

_He frowns, looks up at the sky. It seems tame._

_TIMOTHY: What? What are you talking about?_

_INGRID: The particle accelerator! It’s about to blow! You need to run-_

_Her phone fizzles off. TIMOTHY frowns._

_TIMOTHY: Sis? Hello?_

_He should have run._

_Without any more warning, the sky is alight with electric lightning and unnatural colours. He drops his phone in fright and starts to run. But it’s HOPELESS. No mortal human could run from the spreading explosion. He is ENGULFED in it._

_He CRIES out in pain and falls to the ground, PROPELLED FORWARD by the explosion. He is unconscious, limps askew on the pavement on his front._

_Zoom in on his foot - it’s still, until suddenly It TWITCHES. And then it starts VIBRATING._

_CUT TO: TWO WEEKS LATER._

_The STREAK runs through the city, red and yellow lighting. His narration reads over a montage of him stopping robbers and meta-humans and saving people from burning buildings._

_STREAK: Two weeks ago, I was just TIMOTHY, a selfish banker who would run from danger. But now? NOW, I RUN TO IT._


	2. Chapter 2

 

_ISSUE #50 - COLOUR COP CONTROLS THE STREAK_

_From his hands he blasts energy at the STREAK, a different COLOUR from each finger._

_COLOUR COP: Taste the RAINBOW, bitch!_

_The STREAK’s limbs move of their own accord. He PUNCHES his friend, SIMON and knocks him out! He TRIPS over his own feet! He STAGGERS towards his enemy._

_THE STREAK: What are you doing to me?_

_But COLOUR COP only laughs._

_COLOUR COP: You will never harm me, STREAK.  You may GO FAST, but I’m VAN GOGH!_

_-_

She knows she can’t do anything yet. The police will be watching her, especially if her dad has any sway. She’s identified the body as Georgia Halloway, which doesn’t mean much, apart from the fact she was Facebook friends with Tiffany. Which is  _something_ , but it’s not enough, which means it’s basically nothing. Just two dead girls to rocket around her skull. She has the name of the drug, but anyone with an internet search engine could know the name Weeper these days.

In the meantime, then, it’s back to her average life. She writes about the Streak, she sends her brother back to university with clean clothes and a plea to stop bragging about his night with Jesse. 

And she gets her coffee order.

She goes back to Star Coffee a few days after the bar, and after finding the body. She’d been kept out of the news reports thanks to Captain Singh, and because she wanted to keep her discovery as quiet as possible.

So, when she walks into the coffee shop, and Cisco gives her a knowing look as he asks, “How was  _your_  night, Ms West?” she doesn’t think she can be blamed for being startled.

“What?” she asks, deer caught in the headlights.

“Wally told us,” he says, already starting to make her drink. “Come on, tell us all the gory details.”

Her pulse begins to race with the pressure. “Um. There’s not much to tell…” She trails off just as Barry comes through the back door from the kitchen, hair tousled as if windswept, despite the mild weather. He stops when he sees her.

Cisco makes a scoffing noise. “You left with a guy, Iris. At least tell me you ditched us for a fun night.”

She’s still watching Barry, and realises that must be the excuse her brother came up with. But Barry gives her a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and walks away, clearing tables and chatting to other customers.

“Uh,” Iris says, eyes tracking his movement before snapping back to Cisco. “Yeah, it was nice. It was, um, an old friend.” She tries to remember details from the night, remembers that was the excuse she gave Barry at the bar. God, she must have seemed like a terrible friend at the very least, just leaving him at the bar with two drinks he’d paid for. She hopes he doesn’t think too little of her.

“You going to see him again?” Cisco asks, pouring in the coffee into a takeaway cup.

“No,” Iris says quickly. “Definitely not. He’s not my type.”

“You have a type?”

As if her eyes are guilty enough by themselves, they follow where Barry clears the cups of two elderly ladies in the far corner. “Maybe,” she says absent-mindedly. She realises her transparency in a rush and quickly looks back to Cisco, whose expression is too all-knowing for her taste. Her cheeks heat and she reaches in her purse for some change.

“It’s on the house,” Cisco says. “Friends’ discount.”

“Cisco-”

“I mean it, West.” He winks. “Think of it as bribery to write more about Vortex; he’s my favourite.”

She laughs. “Sure.”

“And you let me know if there’s any more gossip about you and mystery ‘old-friend’,” he says, pointing his finger. “You know Cisco loves his gossip.”

She rolls her eyes as she picks up her coffee. “Honestly, Cisco, I think the only man in my life at the moment is the Streak. And I’m certainly not sleeping with  _him_.”

There’s suddenly a crash of crockery, and both Cisco and Iris whip their heads to see Barry apologising profusely to a customer as he picks up pieces of a mug from next to them. His ears are bright red, but he determinedly doesn’t look their way. Cisco holds a hand over his laughter.

Iris uses the distraction to make a speedy exit, not wanting to add any embarrassment to Barry’s little mishap, and walks back in the direction of work. She needs to get Barry out of her head – no-one’s mentioned anything about a break-up, after all. She halts in the middle of the pavement as an awful thought occurs to her: what if no-one’s mentioning Kara because they know about her awful crush on Barry? The thought makes her cheeks burn.

As she stops near the café, she hears a jumbled sound of falling objects, metal and paper and liquid. And then a: “Oh, fuck!” She spins at the sound, because she could have sworn she recognises that voice: Sure enough, there’s Caitlin in the alleyway by the café, hands on her hips as she stares down at the garbage bag she’s just dropped.

Then, without warning, she lets out a small sob and hides her face in her hand, shoulders shuddering.

Iris goes on instinct, and her feet move quickly down the alley to Caitlin. Tentatively, she starts, “Caitlin?”

Caitlin slides down the wall with her legs bent straight up to her chest. “I’m fine,” she says, in between big gulping breaths.

“Yeah, okay,” Iris agrees unconvincingly, dropping her bag and coming to next to Caitlin. She gets the impression Caitlin isn’t particularly into physical contact, especially at a moment like this, so she tames her first instinct to offer a hug. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

Iris makes a noise with her lips pressed together to show how much she believes that.

Caitlin sighs. “I- my husband. He died. Two years ago today.”

Iris’s heart squeezes. “God, Caitlin.”

And then it all comes out from the other woman in one big rush. “Ronnie died in the particle accelerator. We were all there. Me, Ronnie. Cisco. Barry. All working on a common goal; a common dream. Everything happened  _so fast_.” Her voice wavers, but she continues, staring at the wall opposite her as if seeing something else entirely. “Ronnie was dead. Most were, apart from Cisco and I. Ronnie sacrificed himself to stop the explosion from being worse, from killing everyone.”

She wipes at her cheek.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this but,” she hesitates, and then clearly makes up her mind. “Barry was injured from the explosion. He was in a coma for nine months. Cisco and I - we had nothing else. We put everything we had into helping him, into making sure he would wake up. And he did. And then- everything was so different. It made sense to  _do_  something completely different. So, we opened Star Coffee.”

“S.T.A.R Laboratories,” Iris realises out loud.

“Yeah. Our little homage.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Iris keeps cycling round that one statement: Barry was in a coma for nine months.  _Barry was in a coma for nine months_. She feels ill at the thought, at the idea that she would never have met him, that she wouldn’t have even known what she was missing out on. She thinks of him injured from the same explosion that gave so many other people gifts and powers.

She jolts herself out of it, and sees Caitlin’s gaze locked on the opposite wall, as if seeing something else entirely. Iris again goes on her instinct, and reaches to gently cup her hand over Caitlin’s on the asphalt.

“My fiancée died that night as well. Or, maybe the day after. I don’t really try and remember the date.” She’s stuttering. She had hoped to say this more elegantly, less awkwardly.

“Iris,” Caitlin says, and the pity is clear in her pronunciation.

“We were going through a rough patch,” Iris explains. “But he went out – he was a cop, a detective – for an extra shift all through the night, and the following day. I don’t know how much you were outside when it happened, but the city was just in chaos. The electricity was down, so many people were injured, and then there were so many new metahumans, before anyone knew what they were.”

“An unnatural disaster,” Caitlin says faintly, echoing the headlines at the time.

“He was killed in a shoot-out with a meta.” Iris’ voice is toneless now – she hates telling this part of the story. “Some people were taking advantage of the chaos to try and rob a jewelry store, and he was just driving by, he was on his way to another call. But he stopped, and he didn’t have his gear, and he got shot.”

“I’m so sorry,” Caitlin says, turning her hand to squeeze Iris’s.

“I didn’t tell you because I was trying to, I don’t know, compete, or empathise.” Iris makes a small noise of frustration at herself. “Eddie and I were probably never going to really get married, we rushed into things and I didn’t know how to press pause. And I can see how much you loved your Ronnie. I’m just trying to say that I understand, kind of. About anniversaries and guilt and loss. And if you need someone who kind-of understands to talk to, I’m here for you.”

Caitlin doesn’t reply for a moment, and Iris is sure that she’s stuck her foot in her mouth in a huge way. But then she looks up and sees Caitlin looking straight at her, with a warmth in her eyes Iris hasn’t seen before. “That makes perfect sense,” she replies. “And the same goes to you.”

They sit there for a moment, in appreciative silence. Iris eventually lets out a weak laugh.  “This is probably really gross.”

Caitlin giggles – Iris tries not to be visibly alarmed by it. “Yeah, sitting next to the dumpster definitely isn’t hygienic.”

Iris gets up first and Caitlin takes her offered hand as she stands. It should be awkward; it is, a little bit, but not that much. Iris doesn’t talk about Eddie often – not at all, if she can help it – and she wonders how much is the same for Caitlin. But this feels healing, somewhat, to talk to someone who lost something similar without wanting any pity for it. She leaves the alleyway feeling a little lighter, and she hopes Caitlin does too.

-

When she gets back to work, she’s barely sat at her desk for five minutes before her office phone trills. It’s her mystery informant.

“Hello, Ms. West,” he introduces.

“What have you got for me?” she asks. “ _Please_  tell me you’ve got something good, otherwise this week’s issue is not going to look favourable for the Streak.”

She can actually hear his wince. “Yeah, the meta had luck powers.”

That makes Iris actually put her pen down. “Luck powers? You’re kidding.”

“Honestly, I wish I was.” He sighs. “That’s why our dear Flash fell over on those marbles.”

“And why Vibe managed to handcuff himself?” she prompts.

“That was a deliberate manoeuvre,” the voice denies.

She scoffs. “Come on, he used his powers  _on himself_. Like, he was clasped in handcuffs.”

“Okay, it wasn’t my best move, but-” He stops suddenly, and Iris sits up straight in her chair.

“Oh my god,” she says.

The voice on the other end starts quickly talking. “So, this luck meta was eventually led to just use up her powers, which caused a minor level gamma explosion-”

“ _You’re Vibe_!” Iris hisses victoriously. “No wonder you know so much about what happens. You  _do_  work with the Flash!”

“No, nope,” he refutes.

“You do, oh my god.” She can’t believe this. Madly, she finds herself thinking of Cisco. “I have a friend who would be so jealous I’m talking to you.”

That makes him soften, for some reason. “I suppose you still don’t know my real identity.”

“Nope,” she says, although this puts her one step closer to finding that out. Instead, she chooses to give him a break, and asks, gently, “Okay, so tell me more about this gamma explosion.”

His relief is audible.

In the script for the issue she writes later that day, she includes the gamma explosion that cancelled out ‘Mistress Fortune’ and her powers, and she includes the Streak falling over (but not Vortex).

In the script for the issue out today, however, she’s included a very particular scene.

She ends the story with the Streak standing on the ‘City Picture News’ building roof, surveying the city below. He says to himself, “Another day, another meta. If only there was someone I could talk to about this, about my crazy life.” Then he looks at his lightning bolt watch, which reads ten o’clock, and then he sighs. “Time for bed – I don’t want to GAMBLE with anything else crazy happening tonight!”

It’s a flimsy message at best, and maybe he won’t understand it. Regardless, there she is at quarter to ten, ready and patient, on the rooftop of Central City Picture News.

She leans her elbows on the edge, finding an odd peace in the tiny cars and distant sirens below. Perhaps this is the rush that comes with being a superhero, watching it all unfold and knowing you have the power to change things for the better.

At one minute to the hour, there’s a crackle of lightning, and her hair sweeps across her neck from the sudden gust. She smiles to herself before turning.

“You  _do_  read my comics,” she opens with.

He tilts his head, arms folded. “You shouldn’t be sending me messages. What if someone else understood it?”

She shrugs, and walks closer. She’s feeling brave. “Then they’d be up here, wouldn’t they?”

“That’s a good point.” Her smile widens with his acquisition, but then he’s moving, faster than she can see, and lifting her. Her stomach drops and then rises like she’s on a roller-coaster, and then her feet are being placed back on asphalt, and he’s back to standing a few feet away from her. “There,” he says, triumphant. “Now we definitely won’t have any surprise visitors.”

She spins on one heel to get her bearings. There – a few blocks away to the east, she sees the glowing logo of her paper. She can’t help herself; she laughs, dizzy with adrenaline and freedom. “Neat trick, Flash,” she commends.

“You wanted to talk,” he says.

“I did,” she replies, and gets down to business. “I was wondering if the name Amunet was familiar to you at all.”

Despite wearing a mask, she is quickly assured that the Flash is not a poker player in reality. He freezes, and then acts so faux casual she could laugh. “Nope,” he says. “Can’t say it sounds familiar. Did you mean amulet? Like a necklace?”

She hides her smirk as best as she can. “It’s a name that crops up with some of my contacts.” Two months ago, she didn’t even  _have_  contacts. Since going undercover on a few of the downtown bars and clubs, and following up on drug hook-ups, she’d made some, all using her growing knowledge of the Weeper drug.

She’d managed to get a hold of a sample: it’s a small, clear liquid in a tiny plastic tube. Nothing obvious, but Iris just took a few photos and then emptied it down a drain, not wanting to be carrying any evidence when she already had enough suspicious links to the case.

She chances a step closer to him but he flits away. She laughs in part frustration, but he doesn’t seem so amused as he folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not going to be one of them.”

“Come on,” she pleads, dropping the humour. “I want to help. I want to find out what happened with Tiffany. I have information, and I can do this!”

“I have no doubt in that,” he says, unhelpfully.

She throws her arms up. “Then what? You must trust me to keep coming here. I’ve found out about Amunet by myself, I just need a small clue before the trail goes cold. You must have resources, or-”

“That’s not-” He rubs his right temple, cutting himself off before restarting. “I have a duty to protect this city and its civilians. That includes not helping reporters chase down criminal drug lords. She’s dangerous, Iris!”

She doesn’t let on that even him revealing a gender is helpful. “I can look after myself.”

“I pulled you out of a  _fire_!” For just a moment, the emotion in his voice could convince Iris that the Flash actually cares. But then he changes tact. “Don’t you have people who don’t want you hurt? A boyfriend?”

She narrows her eyes at that last part. Because it sounded – it sounded off. Somewhere between hopeful and not. “I don’t have a boyfriend, no,” she says. “I have a family, and friends, but so did Tiffany, and she’s dead. So are countless others. If I have an opportunity to help people, I have to.”

He can’t argue with that, and she takes his silence as an opportunity to continue her argument.

“Don’t you have family? Friends that care?” She shouldn’t ask, but she’s going to: “A girlfriend?”

He startles. “I don’t have a girlfriend – but I do have friends, yes.” He seems thoughtful. “It’s commendable that you want to help people. Believe me, I get that.”

His honesty sets her aback; she didn’t expect it from someone who is essentially a masked stranger. Albeit a masked stranger who’s had his arm around her thighs a few times.

She edges closer. “You do, don’t you? You put on that suit every day and run into danger. You help people. Why?”

And then lightning, and he’s gone, and then he’s close, facing away from her shoulder to shoulder, side by side. She can see the curl of his lips, the hint of a strong, shaved jaw, as he says, “It’s like you said – I had the opportunity to.”

And then he’s gone. And her damned heart won’t stop racing away with him.

-

_ISSUE #116 - ICE QUEEN MAKES AN ENTRANCE_

_WHIZ: You’re finished, now, STREAK!_

_The STREAK is surrounded by a building INFERNO. With his power-dampening handcuffs, he is POWERLESS to escape!_

_Through the fire, he watches as his nemesis, WHIZ, clicks his gloved fingers._

_WHIZ: Come now, ICE QUEEN – as much as I’d like to stay to watch the FIREWORKS, we must leave. After all, we have a city to command!_

_He SPEEDS away, leaving BLUE LIGHTNING in his trail. The STREAK struggles against his bindings._

_THE STREAK: I have to get out of here! This can’t be the end – I have to save the city from WHIZ!_

_But as he fights with his bonds, the flames suddenly FREEZE, and DISAPPEAR. He looks around in shock._

_He just manages to GLIMPSE the tail of a ICY-BLUE COAT disappear through the far door._

_THE STREAK: Perhaps I have an ALLY this WINTER after all!_

-

Iris has been chasing up her contacts near relentlessly, using her spare nights to trail through the downtown night scene and set herself up as a regular. She’s being trusted, in between bathroom conversations with girls and flirting with guys at the bar. She’d nearly gone home with one guy, but she’d made an excuse, deciding that maybe that was one line she didn’t want to cross for a story.

She’s seen the effects of Weeper in reality like no other drug she’d seen before. People who took the clear liquid were relaxed and happy and horny within a minute. As far as she could tell, the comedown only lasted a few hours whilst the high could last for nearly a day. The only sign was the fact that their eyes would leak every so often without them even noticing - Iris supposed that was where the name came from.

She can’t help but be frustrated with how relative little information she’d got pertaining to her specific investigation. She wanted to know why Weeper deaths were being covered up, not that the drug existed in the first place. This was information she could’ve gained from the police if they’d just cooperate with her.

But she’s making progress. Enough to be invited to a street race going down near the old quarry, one that was completely illegal and completely useful to her case. She dresses in leather and short denim in a way that hopefully doesn’t look too much like a character from Grand Theft Auto, and makes her way down at close to midnight. There’s people she recognises: Jericho, and Melissa, and Monique greet her with wide arms. “Are you going to bet on any?” Iris asks as she gets there. The illegal gambling ring might also be a great story - but she has to stay focused.

Jericho shrugs. “Nah - lost all my money last time. I still want to hit up the eastwards rave after this, and I need to save my money for Weeper.”

That peaks Iris’s interest. “Where’s that?”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Why, you want to come again and not take anything?”

Shit. They’ve noticed her reluctance to take it. Maybe she needs to think about getting a fake - it wouldn’t be that hard to replace the clear liquid with water, and no one would notice once they were high that she was faking.

She’s saved from a reply by the race organiser loudly calling for everyone’s attention, the race being about to start. The two cars are clearly patched together from various pieces, engineered and modified to meet their driver’s demands. She knows how dangerous these things are; she just prays she doesn’t have to see anyone injured tonight.

The cars rev, and a gorgeous red-head steps between them to raise the flag. The crowd chants the countdown along with her, and then she drops it, and the cars are off with a screech against the tarmac.

“You know,” Monique comments. “I was worried they weren’t gonna hold it here, after the cops have been sniffing around that dead body found near.”

Iris’s ears perk up. “Dead body?” She asks, deliberately making her voice especially scandalised.

“Yeah,” Monique replies. “One of the construction workers - someone said he drowned on, like, asphalt. Which is insane, right?”

Iris hums. “I don’t know if it’s  _that_  insane. Central City, remember? Didn’t someone see a giant Gorilla a few months ago?

Jericho nods in agreement. “Even if you’re not a meta-human, things have been getting crazy. Did you hear what Amunet did to one of her Weeper scientists?”

Thankfully, Melissa asks for her: “Weeper scientists? I didn’t know it was that deep.”

Jericho nods. “Oh, yeah. Apparently she was going to talk to a reporter, and Amunet blew up a whole-”

Iris’s heart is beating a fierce rhythm against her rib cage. He’s talking about Tiffany, he  _has_  to be. And if she was a scientist, working for Amunet - what could she have been about to tell Iris?”

But he cuts himself off as the cars race back to finish the first lap, kicking up wind and grit as they skid round corners. Iris raises her forearm to shield her eyes from it, scrunching them up tight.

Just as she lowers her arm, the screaming starts.

The cars have come screeching to a halt as a giant… _monster_  emerges from the tarmac.

Or wait – it’s  _made_  from the tarmac.

It raises burly, huge arms high and then slams them down on the hood of the left car. It has no eyes, but somehow the grit parts to make a mouth, which groans in a timbre that vibrates the entire area, “ _Neil! I’ve come for you!”_

Her somewhat-friends have already taken off running, but Iris only takes a few steps back, scrambling for her phone so she can start snapping pictures. She thinks she might have a new suspicion about the dead body.

The guy in the targeted car scrambles out, but the floor underneath him is crumbling. Iris realises the creature must be actually  _made_  of tar. She races forward before she even knows what she’s doing, reaching for his hand. She grabs on and tries to pull him out, even as his feet become engulfed.

“ _Neil!”_  The creature bellows again.

As Iris heaves the man with all her strength, she huffs, “You’re Neil, I’m guessing?”

The creature reaches for Neil, and adrenaline is pumping through Iris. The man holding onto her has blue eyes, and god, he’s probably a dirt bag but she doesn’t want another dead body on her hands –

She hears the lightning before she sees it. And all at once, her fears disappear.

He’s here.

The weight of Neil is lifted from her as the Flash runs, feet too fast to be caught by the tar, and yanks the man straight out. Iris staggers back with her own momentum before catching herself on her feet.

It’s then she realises she’s now the only thing in front of the monster.

He lets out a blood-curdling, deep shriek, and slams his sort-of-hands back down on the car. Only this time, he hits the roof of the vehicle rather than the engine.

This time, the glass of the windows shatter and fly out in all directions.

She sees the shard of glass coming at her – maybe that’s weird. Like everything just, sort-of, slows down. But she sees it as a street light glints from it.

And then the excruciating pain starts.

She lets out a scream, just a short one, and falls to her knees. Her hands tremble as she reaches for the wound in her shoulder; the glass shard is huge,  _god_ , she doesn’t know deep it goes.

“ _Iris!”_ His voice doesn’t sound right. For the first time she notices he isn’t vibrating it.

The tar monster is gone. Iris should be relieved, but she’s a little busy with other emotions right now.

Shooting pain, up and down her arm and straight up to her neck. Her top feels wet, and she’s acutely aware of her pulse, throbbing and jolting.

“Iris, Iris,  _god_ , Iris.” His leather-glad red hands flutter around her, helpless. His arms are around her and then lifting her. She wants to focus on his face, but honestly, she thinks she might be going into shock?

They’re at the hospital in nearly no time at all. He rushes in, manages to keep her carefully held in his arms as he shouts for help. She supposes being rescued by the Flash must hold a certain weight in a hospital, as nurses and doctors rush to her. He’s so gentle as he lays her on the stretcher.

“I have to go,” he says, and she tries to reach for him. His face is vibrating, but needles are being pushed into her, and her clothes are being pulled away, and she doesn’t get to see him leave.

-

Hours later, she’s alone in her hospital bed. The glass cut into her shoulder muscle – it’ll heal, but it’ll be slow, and she has to have physio for a few months at the least.

Her father sat with her for as long as visiting hours allowed, along with her brother; the worry on their faces was enough to make guilt settle deep into her bones. But she reassures them that everything is alright, really. She just was walking too close to a nasty car crash, she assures them. No-one mentions the Flash, and she’s really hoping no-one will. She doesn’t need more people assuming they have a closer relationship than they do.

Because they don’t. They’re still strangers. (Except for how his voice echoes in her mind, familiar yet not at all as it calls her name.)

It’s night time in her hospital room, and she can’t sleep. She’s hesitant to ask for any more medication, and she’s rewarded for her resilience when lightning enters her room.

He stands by the window, clad in all that red and gold. His arms are folded, and he ducks his head so shadows shield him. He isn’t vibrating, which she oddly appreciates.

“I thought we’d just had a conversation about you being careful.”

She lets out a weak laugh. “I really don’t think I can be blamed for not predicting the road monster.” She manages to pull herself up a little, holding her weight on her elbows. “And anyway, what were  _you_  doing there?”

He sighs. “I was there for the road monster.” He adds, “We caught him, if you were wondering. He was a worker who- well, it doesn’t matter.”

Iris exhales. “I was there investigating Weeper. I-” She lets out a frustrated sound as she falls back on the bed, her right arm too weak to support her after her injury.

There’s a whoosh of air, and then pillows are arranged carefully behind her to pop her up. He’s back to standing in the corner of the room. She smiles softly. “Thank you. And, thank you for getting me here so quickly. I was lucky you were there, I suppose.”

In the dim moonlight, she could almost fool herself into thinking there’s something like emotion flitting across his anonymous features. “I was too late,” he admits, quietly.

“No, you weren’t,” she disagrees. Alright, she’s a little bit injured. But, it’s more than that. How can she possibly explain? That she felt safe as soon as she felt the whoosh of air making the hair on the back of her neck stand up? That his arms feel as if they could protect her from anything? That she can still feel leather fingers wrapped around her thigh?

“I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt,” he confesses into the silence.

The only betrayal of how deep those words cut is how her fist curls in the flimsy hospital sheets. She wants to believe him - but how can she believe a nameless man? She tries to play it off with a tease, a light, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

And then he’s at the foot of her bed, leaning on the frame with his hands like he’s pained, head bent down. Then he looks up - shadows shield him but his face doesn’t blur, and she feels as if she’s looking straight at him, no mask. “What other girls?” he asks her, quietly.

He’s gone, and she deflates back into the bed. Left to make sense of him, as usual.

She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t listen to a word he says. But over and over, his words play in her head, like a lullaby as it eases her back to sleep.

-

_ISSUE #97 - THE RASCALS UNITE_

_In an ABANDONED WAREHOUSE, our villains meet in the dead of night. Six of them stand in a circle, facing each other, hands on their weapons just in case. They may be here but they certainly don’t trust each other._

_MAJOR POLAR: Thank you for accepting my INVITATION. We are all here because we have a common enemy: THE STREAK. But we have struggled to defeat him individually: I, therefore, propose a TEAM-UP. If superheroes can do it, I don’t see why we villains can’t!_

_HAZE: I don’t need any of you! I can kill THE STREAK any time I choose!_

_MAJOR POLAR: Then why haven’t you?_

_HAZE: I’ve been busy._

_MAJOR POLAR: Sure. Is that the excuse the rest of you are using?_

_The others look UNCOMFORTABLE._

_MR. REFLECTOR: In my defence, it’s a MIRROR-CLE I’m no longer TWO-DIMENSIONAL._

-

When she gets back to work the following week, Mason calls her into his office. She assumes it’ll be some kind of awkward comment about her health and making sure to take it easy, to which she’ll make a similarly awkward joke about sitting at her desk extra-safely. She is very wrong.

“West,” he greets. “Don’t bother taking a seat, this won’t take long.”

She pauses from where she was lowering herself into the seat across his large desk, and remains standing. “Uh, okay.”

His goatee has been trimmed, and his brown hair is brushed back with gel. His tie has some kind of stylish geometric pattern on, and his shirt is linen – she can tell because if he moves the wrong way, she can kind of see his nipple. She makes sure to keep her eyes up on his face as he speaks. “We’re building together an expose on the Flash,” he starts.

There’s a weird feeling that curls in Iris’s stomach – something like protectiveness, which she doesn’t want to examine to closely. “Oh?” She replies neutrally.

“Obviously, we don’t have much information on him,” Mason acquiesces. “But we’ve got his height, his period of activity, et cetera.”

“Do you… want my input?” Iris asks, unsure of where this meeting is headed.

Mason scoffs - she’s bites down the feeling of offence. “No, no. You take creative liberties; we wouldn’t want you getting confused about what was real and what you made up.” Iris has to actually stop herself from blurting out that she actually has a direct connection to Vibe, a fucking  _real_  source and superhero. “No, I called you in here because we want the comic to build up to one of the pieces we’ll be including in the expose, which is all the information we have about the woman he keeps being spotted with.”

Iris feels her gut twist. “What woman?”

Mason must have been preparing for this moment: he leans on his desk to spin around three distinct photographs to Iris. As she steps forward to examine them, her suspicions prove correct.

Each photo, though blurry and from a separate location, is of her. There’s one after the fire, and one where she left a message for him, and the final one is him carrying her away from the tar monster. She tries to keep her expression neutral even as her heart hammers away. Because of their distance, the first two are low-quality and grainy; she can’t be suspected from that.

But the one from her injury…she finds her fingers touching the photo, just grazing it. He cradles her carefully, and her face is hidden in the crook of his shoulder. She can see why they’re running the piece from that photo. It looks startlingly intimate, and the photo seems to show an expression of panic on the Flash’s face. Only she knows the truth, that he was only worried about her injury, as he would be for any citizen. But she can hardly say that, can she?

“Do you know who she is?” She asks, lightly.

He shrugs. “We know she has dark hair, that she’s black. She was described by witnesses at the scene as beautiful and, uh, ‘hot in a way you’d show off at a high school reunion way’, whatever that means,” he adds, not noticing Iris’ mortification. “I really don’t know, I think that witness was pretty high.”

Iris coughs into her fist to try and compose herself. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“We want you to write her into The Sensational Streak. I think we can all agree it’s about time for the Streak to have a love interest, anyway, and this will act as a great build-up to when we release the expose.” Mason takes her silence as confusion, and further commands, “We want her to be civilian, since that’s what we’re assuming from the photos we have so far. Maybe the Streak saves her from a car accident and falls madly in love with her? If you want a longer story arc, that’s fine with me, but I want her introduced and named by two weeks.”

Iris makes a small squeak, and then manages to regain control. “Right. No, I can do that.”

This will be the worst self-insert in the history of writing.

She leaves his office, and wants immediately to complain to Linda; except she can’t, really, because Linda won’t understand. Iris had considered telling Linda about her separate investigation, but she couldn’t bear another person telling her that it was too dangerous, that she shouldn’t even bother. So, Linda won’t know that Iris is the person in the photos, and therefore she won’t understand Iris’s resistance to writing this.

Just as expected, when she explains Mason’s demands to Linda, her friend only looks excited. She claps her hands together. “That’s great! I was wanting to add some more women to the cast; I’m so bored of drawing Killer Frost’s pale face.”

“Linda,” Iris tries to reprimand. “Come on, this woman is a real person.”

“Yeah, sure,” Linda replies, not exactly looking contrite. “Have you decided on a name yet? What about a nice flower name, like Rose-”

“No.” Iris says, quickly. “No flower names. We’ll do… I don’t know. We’ll pick something from a baby name book at random.”

Linda frowns. “Why are you so stressed about this? Come on, it’s just another character. She might not even be around that long, who knows how long women manage to captivate a speedster?”

Iris thinks she might actually vomit. “I’m not stressed,” she defends, even as she turns to pick up her coat. “I’m going to go brainstorm at Star Coffee, okay? You work on the character design, Mason will send you the photos, I’m sure.”

Linda looks worried, and then she must see something over Iris’s shoulder as her expression turns teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need to go to anywhere for your, ah, coffee fix.”

“What?” Iris pivots to see what on earth her friend is talking about.

It’s Barry, standing there at the front entrance talking to the office secretary. He looks taller than she last saw him – maybe she’s just not used to seeing him out of his waist-apron in the daylight. He’s wearing a navy blue sweater, and  _god_ , he’s carrying flowers, a pretty bouquet of pink and white lilies, and Iris wants to positively die.

“My god,” Linda appreciates from behind Iris. “He looks like he came straight out of a 2000’s teen movie. Is he asking you to prom?”

“You shut the hell up,” Iris hisses, before pasting a smile onto her face and walking to him. “Barry?”

He startles as he notices her. “Uh, never mind,” he tells the receptionist. “I’ve found her, thank you. Hey, Iris.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I heard you got out of hospital. I was going to visit you there, but I wasn’t sure I should. Or that you’d want me to. And I assumed you’d have visitors all the time, I didn’t want to crowd you.” As if he only just remembers what he has in his other hand, he thrusts the bouquet at her. “These are for you. You’re supposed to bring flowers for injured people, right?”

“Oh my gosh,  _Barry_ ,” she says, voice soft, slightly irritated with herself for how much the gesture touches her.  “That’s really sweet of you.”

_He has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend_ …

“I was actually on my way to Star Coffee,” she admits, even as she breathes in the sweet smell of the flowers. She lets out a little sound somewhere between a hum and a moan, and when she looks back up, Barry’s ears are red. “I could walk you back?”

“Sure,” he says, sounding pleased. “That sounds good.”

“Let me just-” she turns but Linda is already making grabby-hand-gestures for the flowers.

“I’ll find some water to put them in,” she says politely enough. Iris thinks she’s managed to escape suspiciously easily before Linda leans in to whisper, “If you turn left after the lights there’s an alley you can  _ravage_  him in.”

As she turns away, fighting down the heat in her cheeks at  _that_  particular comment, Mason comes out of his office with eyes for Linda only. “Park!” he barks. “The email with the photos of the Flash’s new squeeze aren’t coming through to you. Technology can suck it. You know what she looks like, though?”

Linda shrugs. “Yeah, I saw the photos from Keeley’s computer, don’t worry.”

“Good. Just, make sure she has black, curled hair, like the photos,” Mason adds. He makes a thoughtful noise. “Kind of like yours, Iris.”

“Alright!” Iris replies, three octaves higher than normal. “Barry, we should go.”

Barry looks equally as stunned. “Are they- But- The Flash’s new squeeze?” He echoes as Iris drags him away.

As soon as they’re out of the CCPN building, Iris feels herself relax. She explains, as flippantly as she possibly can, “They have some photos of a woman who’s been seen with the Flash. And because apparently I work for a gossip rag, they’re claiming she’s dating him. And I have to include a fictionalised version of her in my comic book. The whole thing is  _ridiculous_ ,” she surmises venomously.

Barry blinks. “Won’t that be awkward for you?”

She sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead as they start walking. “God, probably. I hate this, I hate writing about real people. And especially-” she stops herself, before she gives too much away. She frowns as she replays Barry’s phrasing. “Wait, why do you mean it’ll be awkward for me specifically?”

His mouth drops a half-inch in surprise. He recovers and replies, “Oh. No, I just meant, you know, like you were saying. Because she’s a real person.” He looks away quickly. “You’ll do it, I’m sure. Your writing’s really good.”

She scoffs. “It’s not, but thank you.”

“I mean it,” he insists. “I know you think your work is dumb because it’s a comic book, and you have to write in a certain style. But even when you’re restrained by whatever the Flash is doing, and, I don’t know, whatever Mason tells you to write, it’s still  _good_. I read it regularly even before I met you.”

Her cheeks feel hot. She feels too much of  _something_  so she just gently elbows him, trying to deflect with, “Don’t be getting sappy on me now, Allen.”

He scoffs as they turn the corner; she can’t read his expression as he watches for the crossing lights to change. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then his chin tilts towards her as he asks, clearly respecting her topic deflection, “How’s your brother?”

Iris pulls a face. “Back at college, thank God. He sent me some dumb meme this morning that I’m pretty sure was at my expense, but I didn’t really understand it.”

A bark of laughter escapes Barry. “Getting old, huh?”

She’s forced to elbow him again for the second time in as many minutes, the ass. “I’m not old! Just - the internet is stupid,” she finishes dumbly.

“Uh huh,” he replies, agreeable in a way to suggest she’s not fooling anyone. “Jesse keeps asking me about him.”

Iris groans as they turn onto Mistletoe Avenue, and the blackboard promising “Wifi + caffeine = one happy customer” outside the coffee shop comes into view. “You might want to try and dissuade her. My brother’s not exactly known for being boyfriend material.”

“I’ll pass it on,” says Barry. “Anyway, I think she knows the long distance definitely wouldn’t work.”

“Oh, is she not from nearby?” Iris asks. She thinks Barry might have mentioned something about her being out-of-town, but there was enough going on that night that she’s forgotten.

He nods, just a shade too fast, though she has no idea why. “Uh, yeah. She’s from, another town. So. Not nearby, no.”

She’s saved from having to deal with whatever  _that_  was as they walk inside the coffee shop. Inside, Caitlin and Cisco are serving a customer at the bar, a university student carrying a load of textbooks.

“Good luck with your exams, man, you’ll crush it.” Cisco tells the student, before catching sight of Iris and Barry and his expression lifts. “Iris! I thought Barry was visiting  _you_.”

Iris laughs lightly. “I decided to walk him back. I needed coffee, and I didn’t want him getting lost, after all.”

“Sensible,” Cisco plays along.

“Ha-ha,” Barry says, deadpan. “I’m just going to just go check on the stock.”

“One latte, extra shot?” Cisco asks Iris, even as he turns around to make it.

“Thanks, Cisco,” Iris says, leaning her elbows on the counter. She quietly asks Caitlin, “How are you?”

“I’m okay, thanks.” The words seem flippant, but Caitlin’s expression seems genuine enough. Then her smile turns sly. “I actually just beat Cisco on a Star Wars quiz, so I’m doing  _really_  well. He has to do the shop’s dishes for the next week.”

Iris hides her snigger behind her hand as Cisco blusters, “You cheated!”

“I did  _not_ ,” Caitlin replies hotly.

Cisco scowls. “You made it seem like you’ve never watched  _Star Wars_! I was fooled into complacency.”

Caitlin’s shoulders lift and fall in a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe you should have listened to me more - we’ve been friends for six years, Ramon.” She turns back to Iris. “Anyway, how are you? How’s work?”

Iris groans in reply.

“That well, huh?”

“My boss is just asking me to include a character who I’d really,  _really_  rather not.” Iris explains. “I just feel like I never get to really focus on the actual side characters I already have. Every week it’s just the Streak versus a new, stupid meta.”

Cisco hands her the coffee in a takeaway cup, joining the conversation and asking, cheekily, “Does that mean you want to write more stories about Vortex?”

She smiles patiently. “Yeah, kind of. I really want to focus more on Ice Queen, though.”

Caitlin’s gaze upon Iris suddenly becomes intense, as if Iris’ answer to her next question matter a great deal. “You mean the character based on Killer Frost?”

“Yeah! To be honest I think the real Frost should change her name anyway,” Iris says, almost flippantly, but Cisco frowns as if intrigued.

“Really?”

Iris gestures with her hand. “Think about it - she doesn’t actually kill people. She saves them. I know there was a bit of drama with her origin, but come on, she’s helped three times as many people as she ever threatened. She’s not a killer. It’s an unfair name. It’s why I named the comic version Ice Queen rather than, like, Murder Ice.”

There’s the slam of a door - Iris’s head whips to see Caitlin is no longer behind the counter, and the door to the kitchen swings with the leftover force. Her brows crease in thought but Cisco quickly pulls her attention back: “That’s an interesting thought, Iris. Do you want a cupcake with your coffee, then?”

“Is Caitlin okay?”

“Cake? I’ll get you some cake.” He stands up quickly as if he hadn’t heard her, and Iris gets the hint to shut up. (That doesn’t mean she stops wondering about it, though.)

-

_ISSUE #155 – ICE QUEEN RETURNS_

_MORTAR MAN slams his tar fists down through the pavement. The ground CRACKS, and electricity poles FALL. As they do so, one lands on a SCHOOL BUS, and CATCHES FIRE._

_THE STREAK: I have to save them! But MORTAR MAN is blocking the way!_

_But SUDDENLY, he watches as a jet stream of SNOW falls on the bus, and EXTINGUISHES the fire. MORTAR MAN looks equally confused – as much as he can look ANYTHING with a face made of TAR. THE STREAK takes the opportunity from the distraction, and speeds around MORTAR MAN, trapping him in a vortex and SCATTERING most of his material until he has shrunk down to normal HUMAN SIZE. Now he can be safely ARRESTED._

_As the police deal with MORTAR MAN, the STREAK looks for his mystery aid. Though she is running away down an alley, she’s not fast enough to outrun the STREAK._

_It’s ICE QUEEN._

_THE STREAK: You helped me._

_ICE QUEEN: No, I helped those children. No-one likes BURNING BUSES, right?_

-

Iris wakes up on the tail-end of her own scream, twisting and pushing herself up and away from her mattress. Georgia’s empty eyes are watching her still, and she flips away the covers all in a rush so she can turn on her bedside lamp. Once warm light illuminates the space, she sits back down. No dead bodies on her rug. No-one waiting for her behind her door or inside her wardrobe. She’s fine.

So why won’t her heart stop pounding?

The details of her nightmare are already fizzling away, more so as she tries to grasp onto them and make sense of them. But she’s still left with the fear, the dread. The sensation of rolling over a dead body to face her. She tries to do some breathing exercises - but is it seven seconds in, seven out? Or thirty? Or two? She can’t, she can’t.

It’s this that makes her reach for her phone, hands trembling and pushing off a still half-full glass of water from her bedside table as she grabs for her cell. She’ll tell anyone after that it’s because ‘B’ comes before ’D’ or ‘W’, or even 'L’; regardless, it’s Barry she finds herself calling.

Into the third ring, she feels utterly ridiculous. God, she doesn’t even know what time it is, only that it’s dark enough for this call to be completely inappropriate. She pulls the phone away from her to check, and it’s then that the call connects. “Hello? Iris?” She can hear even by her name that he goes from groggy to alert and concerned.

She’s tempted to just hang up, but she knows if the roles were reversed, that would just make her worry more. She tentatively holds the cell phone back up to her ear. “Uh, hey. Sorry for calling. I’ll just-”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally.” She can’t hide the tremor in her voice no matter how she tries. Pathetic.

“Iris,” he says, and somehow manages to sound both understanding and stubborn in just those two syllables. She feels shame coil in her belly as she realises Kara is probably sleeping beside him. “Come on. You must have called for a reason.”

She lets out a long exhale. She may as well tell him the truth, now, the whole embarrassing truth. “I, uh. I had a nightmare. And, I don’t know. I must have been still half-asleep, and I called you. I’m really sorry, I must have woken you up.” She finally checks her clock and registers the time. “Oh, Barry, it’s like five am. You have to be at the shop soon - I’m so, so sorry-”

He cuts her off with a gentle hush. “Hey, it’s okay. I told you to call me if you ever needed to.”

“You meant for muggers, or, like, crazy stalkers!” she retorts. “Not for me being selfish and weak.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge that, just says, in that sincere way of his, “You know, I still call my dad when I have a really bad nightmare.”

That makes Iris stop short. “You do?” she asks in a small voice.

He lets out a humourless, small laugh. “Yeah. Just telling him about it helps. I used to be a forensic scientist, and I’d see all kinds of terrible things. And as much as I’d be okay in the day - sometimes your subconscious needs more time to process things properly.” He pauses. “So, uh, do you want to tell me what happened?”

Already, he’s made her feel ten times better. She lets out a long breath, notices that her heart rate has slowed back down to normal. She curls her knees up close to her chest, and closes her eyes. She lets herself pretend that he’s here with her. “Do you remember I told you I was investigating something outside of my usual work?”

“Of course,” is his immediate reply.

She can’t believe she’s telling him this; but also, she can’t believe she hasn’t already told him. “It- I found a dead body. That’s really what happened the night when I ditched you at the club. I got a text message promising a lead, and there was just a dead girl.”

His intake of breath is audible over the connection. “Jesus.”

“My dad was furious,” she continues. “And- of course I knew it was horrible. But also, I was too determined to really, I don’t know, deal with it? But then I found out her name recently, her connection to the story. And it just made it all so much more real.”

“Hence the nightmare,” he guesses correctly.

“Yeah.” She taps her fingernails on her pyjama-clad knee. “It was back in that empty lot. And the smell-”

“It’s awful,” he agrees. Of course, he’d be the one person who’d understand.

As she speaks, the dream comes back to her. “And I rolled it over, like I did with Georgia. And it was my  _dad_ ,” she stops, choking on her own voice. “And then I blinked, and it was Wally, and then I tried to touch him, and it was  _you_ , and-” She stops herself as she realises what she’s just admitted. Maybe there was a reason she called Barry, after all. She sniffs and wipes a hand over her eyes. “And Linda, and- it just went on and on.”

Barry is quiet. Now, a whole new kind of panic settles in; is this where he finally explicitly lets her down? That he at least reminds her of his girlfriend. But, to her utmost surprise, instead he asks, gently, “Do you want me to come over?”

She would love to say yes. But instead: “No, it’s fine. I’ve already wasted enough of your time,” she hurries, feeling guilty as her eyes flicker over the clock again.

“You haven’t, I promise,” he says, clearly, and she finds herself believing him.

“I should go,” she says, instead of everything else on the tip of her tongue; something like thanks, or something a little more potent than that.

“Text me, in the morning,” he says, quickly. “So I know you’re feeling better.”

“ _Barry_ -”

“I mean it.” He warns. “Or I’ll text you. And I’m not afraid to, like, quadruple text.”

She laughs despite herself. “Well, if you’re throwing threats like  _that_  around…”

“Promise me,” he says, quietly. It’s this that she’s most at danger from, she thinks: his unflinching sincerity in his kindness.

She’s helpless but to reply, “Yeah, I will. I promise.” Her fingers squeeze on her phone. “Seriously, Barry. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

She swallows back the emotion that elicits. “Well, I’d better let you get at least some sleep.”

“Pft,” he deflects. “What’s the point of owning a coffee shop if you don’t have a healthy caffeine dependency?” Gentle then, he continues. “Good night, Iris.”

“Good night,” she whispers, and she hangs up before she says anything else she might regret.

-

Surprisingly, she manages to get back to sleep relatively easily, and when she wakes up in time for work, she keeps good on her promise and texts Barry a quick, “Good morning.” She doesn’t add an ‘x’ to the end, after much embarrassing deliberation.

She goes about the rest of her morning routine, and it’s only whilst she waits for her eyelash glue to dry that she checks her phone again. She’s surprised to see the reply came almost instantaneously.

_BARRY: Morning to you too! Sleep well?_

_BARRY: p.s looks like it’s going to rain today, do you have a waterproof jacket? :))_

(She’s horrified to note that she finds his double-chin, typed-out emoji endearing. Who has she become?)

Sure enough, as she steps outside her apartment block, she looks up to see threateningly-grey clouds loom above.

_IRIS: good eye - luckily I still have my superman umbrella_

_BARRY: i thought you hated superheroes ?!?_

_IRIS: just ones I have to write about._

_BARRY: booo_

_IRIS: don’t you have coffee to be making for someone right now?_

_BARRY: luckily I’m fast with my fingers_

_BARRY: um_

_BARRY: I meant texting_

And he proves that to her for the rest of the day, texting her odd quotes overheard from customers and Cisco, as well as questions he has about her job, her film taste and cooking abilities. She’s sure she’d find it annoying if she weren’t so busy messaging him back in equal measure. She asks him about his favourite book and what it was like being a CSI, and she fills him in on the CCPN pool for which intern Mason is going to make cry in public. (She even confesses to him that she was the favourite back when she was an intern herself).

In fact, the next week seems to pass that way, messages and emojis exchanged throughout the day and even into the night.

On Thursday, she has to do various interviews, in person and on the phone, to promote  _The Streak’s_  new love interest, and the only way she gets through it is by venting to Barry between each one. He, at least, seems to understand some of her frustration, unlike the rest of her colleagues.

CCPN has finally decided on a name for the character: Yasmin Smith, a nurse who is certifiably lovely and one-dimensional for the time being. Apparently they don’t want to give her too many defined qualities in case they learn more about ‘the Flash’s real girlfriend’, which makes Iris squirm uncomfortably on each mention.

She’s been digging her heels in as much as she can, without outright getting fired, so having to be enthusiastic about the character to various entertainment and sci-fi reporters is quickly draining.

When she’s asked for the  _fourth_  time whether she shares any qualities with the character, Iris snaps before she can stop herself, “Would you be asking that if she was blonde and white?”

The forty-something balding man on the other end of the Skype video call pauses and stumbles. He finally looks up from his notepad to make eye contact. “Pardon?”

Immediately, she feels terrible. She’s being completely rude - this is a reporter’s job, after all, and she’s just making it unnecessarily difficult. Of course they’re asking whether a writer puts some of themselves in the character. She’s only annoyed because she’s the one person in the whole world who knows exactly how many qualities she shares with the  _Streak_ ’s girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she apologises. “I know you’re not- I wasn’t- I’m sorry.” Her lips twitch with a contrite smile.

“Long day, huh?” He allows her the excuse, and she’s exceedingly grateful, leaping on it quickly.

“Yes, completely. I’m really not used to being the one answering questions,” she jokes.

Truthfully, she kind of does understand the media attention. The Flash himself is a national, if not global interest, and even her fictionalised version shares some of the fervour. There’s even been talks about publishing a real, hard-copy anthology. And here’s the first taste of a girlfriend, a real person who knows the man beneath the mask. As the interview wraps up, she sighs, leaning her jaw on one hand. If only they knew that the mystery woman knew nothing at all about him.

She’s brought from her melancholy by the buzz of her phone.

_BARRY: in all fairness I don’t know the context, but I just heard Cisco tell Caitlin that ‘Birds are the real rulers of the sky, and airplanes should respect them.’_

She stifles a giggle and quickly types her reply.

_IRIS: find out more or else I’ll never forgive you_

_BARRY: your wish is my command_

She lets out a little exhale. If only that were true.

She gets through the rest of the day like that, finding odd moments to do her actual work and type out the week’s script. She’s still not entirely happy with the new character’s introduction, but then again, she supposes she never will be - Linda has already assured her, “It’s fine,  _god_ , let me draw it already!”

Iris is one of the last ones out of the office that evening, due to one of her interviewers running stupendously behind schedule. Mason also wants a full report of her interviews, detailing which ones she thinks went well and when they’ll be published, so she’s only walking home close to seven, dusk falling over the city.

As she rounds the corner past the old cinema, she thinks at first that she’s imagining that familiar voice. “Dude, this is so typical that she’s cancelled last minute. We probably should have expected it.”

But sure enough, as she walks closer, he recognises the dark locks of Cisco, facing away from her as he talks animatedly to a beautiful woman with freckles and smouldering eyes, and to Barry, whose green eyes widen as they catch sight of her.

“Iris?” Barry asks.

She walks towards them, smiling despite herself. She hasn’t seen any of them all week - since she’s started texting Barry regularly, if she’s being really honest. Perhaps, deep down, she’s been scared of breaking their little phone bubble. But Barry only smiles at her, warm as ever with no trace of awkwardness.

Cisco spins, eyes lighting up with recognition. “Hey!” He stretches his arms out for a hug, but it is stopped by a pointed cough by the woman beside him. Iris finds herself cowering underneath such a piercing stare. Cisco rolls his eyes, and wraps his arm around the woman’s waist inside. “Babe,” he assures her in an exaggerated stage whisper. “This is  _Iris_.”

At once, the woman’s expression clears, and Iris feels herself ease up. Apparently, this is an acceptable answer. “Oh, really?” She steps forward. “I’m Cynthia.”

That makes sense - Cisco’s girlfriend. Iris had heard her mentioned infrequently but never been able to put a face to the name, only a reason for Cisco to turn down numerous flirtations at work. “Nice to meet you,” Iris shakes her hand and means it. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I about you,” Cynthia replies coyly. “Especially from-”

Barry coughs across her, though Iris is confused why he seems weirdly flustered, a pink tinge to his cheekbones. “Well, we were just about to go in to see a film.”

“Right,” Iris nods, taking the hint. “I was just walking home, so I’ll leave you guys to it.” She takes a step back, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

But then Cisco and Cynthia share a look - if Iris thought Cisco had a dangerous mind by himself, she obviously hadn’t met his other half. Somehow, they manage to communicate an entire language through a twitch of an eyebrow and varieties of intense eye contact. Cynthia nods, and then turns back to Iris. “You know, we do have a spare ticket.”

Iris remembers the conversation they were having before she interrupted, something about a woman cancelling on them. Then she sees Cisco holding out the aforementioned ticket, and she realises what they’re offering.

“We can’t get a refund now,” Cisco adds. “You’d be doing us a favour so it doesn’t go to waste.”

“You’re sure?” Iris slowly takes the ticket to examine it. “I feel like I haven’t seen a movie at the cinema for  _years_.”

“Brilliant, it’s settled then!” Cisco turns to his girlfriend, and holds out his elbow for her to take. Iris watches as Cynthia actually  _giggles_ , looping her arm through her boyfriends’ as they walk into the cinema.

But, as they disappear through the doors, Iris abruptly does the math. She realises that the one who cancelled is, most likely, Kara, and this was supposed to be a double date. Before she can quickly give back the ticket and make up some excuse,  _any_  excuse, Barry quirks a grin at her. “I ordered the tickets,” he says, cocking his chin towards the cinema entrance. “So, you can get the popcorn.”

And just like that, it’s easy. Iris feels her whole body relax and she smiles back. “Salty or sweet?”

The film, it turns out, is a foreign arthouse piece that Cisco and Cynthia picked out. Barry confesses this to her while they queue for popcorn at the concession stand. “My vote was for that new comedy, but apparently I’m not ‘cultured enough.’” He deliberately uses air quotes, and Iris hides her snicker behind her hand. “And it was two against one.”

“Didn’t you drag Cisco to that documentary on the Hadron Collider?” She points out.

He pauses. “That’s different.”

She lets out a full-body laugh. “Sure it is.”

“It was an interesting documentary!” he defends as they move forward in the queue, despite her giggling. As promised, she buys the popcorn when they finally reach the till - but while she’s passing over her ten-dollar bill, she catches Barry paying for two sodas at another till.

Iris gasps in mock-outrage. “Hey!”

He adopts a too-innocent expression. “You like lemonade, right?”

She huffs. “Yes, but that’s not the point.” And because her competitive streak comes out in the weirdest moments, she turns back to the cashier, who is understandably nonplussed by the scandal of Barry’s generosity. “Please make the popcorn an extra-large, actually.”

Barry tries to protest. “That is really not-”

“Don’t make me buy nachos as well,” she threatens, which quickly shuts him up. Victorious, she has to use both hands wrapped around the humongous bucket to hold it properly as they turn around. But as they turn, she sees Cisco and Cynthia watching them with all-too knowing expressions on their faces, and Iris feels guilt churn and her cheeks go red. She really needs to get a handle of herself and remember that she’s only a last-minute replacement to Barry’s actual date.

They all walk the right screening, chatting amongst themselves and slip through the swing doors as a trailer for a new car plays. But almost as soon as they reach the bottom of the seats, Cisco and Cynthia immediately scuttle up the walkway to the very back seat, curling into each other and whispering to each other, clearly lost in each other. Iris glances and sees Barry simply roll his eyes, as if he’s far used to their antics.

“Come on,” he says, with a gentle nudge of her elbow to help direct her. “We’d better be at least a few rows in front of them unless we want the audio track.”

“The audio track of-?” she averts her eyes quickly as she sees Cisco press his face into Cynthia’s neck. “Never mind.” She understands the eye rolling now.

“I’m not sure why they bothered picking a film if they were planning on missing most of it,” Barry complains good-naturedly as they sideways shuffle into the seats. Most of the auditorium is empty, with a few couples and groups smattered along the rows.

Iris can only laugh. “Maybe it’s romantic.”

“It’s gross,” Barry counters.

She winces as she hears a soda being dropped to the ground with little care. “Yeah, it is.”

They sit down as a mattress salesman on the screen starts promising 'low, low prices’ to the tune of Flo Rida, and manage to swap around the sodas. Iris has to lean close to Barry in order to hold the huge bucket of popcorn balanced between them - it’s only then she regrets getting such a huge portion. She’s close enough to breathe in his deodorant - and then, because there’s so little room, he’s practically forced to put his arm up over the back of her seat. She has to physically fight the urge to just lean back into him, as if they were a real couple, on a real double-date. She’s surprised by how much the idea makes her ache, and she watches the screen without really seeing any of it.

Eventually, the actual film starts, and Iris begins to get lost in the plot. It’s surprisingly interesting, considering she hasn’t watched an indie film since college, and within ten minutes, she relaxes infinitesimally until suddenly she’s resting the back of her head against Barry’s bicep. She freezes when she realises, and sneaks a sideways glance to see if he’s noticed. The position is intimate, and she’s hyper-aware of it, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all. Perhaps he’s just more tactile than her. Either way, she’s definitely overthinking it, and a colourful dream sequence on the cinema screen reclaims her attention.

But then comes the next test to her resolve - like yet another cliche, she reaches into the popcorn at the same time and their hands graze together in the air. She must be imaging the crackle of electricity, but she flinches back regardless, giggling nervously at herself. “Sorry,” she whispers. “You go for it.”

He’s smiling at her. (He’s close enough that she could lean in- no.) “Ladies first,” he replies in a hushed tone, gesturing for her to go ahead. She’s obviously lost some brain cells in the past week, because she interprets the gesture as chivalrous. She gets a handful and tries to remember what her normal resting face is. She’s managed to be friends with him this long, hasn’t she? But apparently dim lighting and overpriced snacks has her turning back into a simpering teenager.

She just about manages to get through the rest of the film without any further incidents. She also resolves to make less attractive friends, because she clearly has a problem. As the credits roll, she leans down for her bag and Barry retracts his arm, thank /god/. “What did you think?” he asks as she sits back up.

“I really actually liked it,” she confesses. Despite her anxiety about being inappropriate, she’s in no rush to leave. Masochism is also apparently something she needs to work on. “The way the main character deliberately worked on her main flaw, to turn its antithesis into her strength.”

He nods thoughtfully. His eyes are sincere as he comments, “You know, it kind of reminded me of your writing. The way you wrote Timothy as a coward becoming a hero.”

Just like that, she’s disarmed again. Her mouth falls open. “Really? No, my- that’s just a dumb origin story.”

But his head shakes resolutely. “I thought it was powerful. Reminds your readers that it takes more than superpowers, that a person has to make a decision to help.”

Something about his voice makes her ask, “It sounds like you’re familiar with the thought.”

He startles, as if he wasn’t expecting her at all to hear that. His gaze casts away as he admits, “I guess. There’s been times in my life where I’ve been a coward. Your writing…it helps remind me that there’s always another decision I can be braver for. That being afraid now doesn’t mean you won’t be braver later.”

Iris finds herself speechless. His words cut deep, finding their reflection in her own experiences and thoughts. She swallows thickly. “That’s- that’s exactly it.” She doesn’t know what makes her ask the next part. Perhaps it’s the low lighting of the cinema, the gentle piano of the credits still rolling across them. Perhaps it’s that she trusts Barry would never make fun of her. “Do you think the Flash gets scared?”

It’s been something she’s wrestled with throughout writing his fictional counterpart. As she makes decisions for the character and his arc, she wonders whether the Flash goes through any similar worries or fears. Logically, she thinks he must, if he is a real person underneath the red leather. But then again, all she sees of him is his heroics. He’s a superhero - how can she even begin to understand him?

But Barry looks up, looks her dead in the eye, and says firmly, “I absolutely do.”

His green eyes grab her, and she’s opening her mouth to say something reckless, when they both startle from a call, “Hey! You two planning on sleeping here?”

Iris realises the film has completely stopped, and Cisco and Cynthia are waiting at the end of their row. (Iris also notices that Cisco’s lips weren’t that glossy shade of purple that Cynthia was wearing before the film.)

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Barry assures as Iris stands. She feels colder even as she slips on her jacket.

The four of them all walk out into the corridor – as they pass the door for the bathroom, Cynthia claims, “Iris, come with me. Ladies’ trip.” And Iris has little choice but to follow the other woman, as Cynthia grabs onto her wrist and pulls her in the direction of the bathroom.

Iris does actually need to go after finishing that soda, but afterwards, as she’s washing her hands and Cynthia comes to the neighbouring sink, she finds herself feeling on edge. Cynthia isn’t saying anything, but the way she looks at Iris’s reflection in the mirror makes it seem as if she wants to. Iris opens her mouth to ask if everything’s okay, when Cynthia just turns to Iris.

“You seem really nice,” Cynthia says, apropos of seemingly nothing. “And Cisco raves about you. Even Caitlin likes you.”

Iris feels warm at the compliments, but her suspicion doesn’t dissipate. “But?” she prompts.

Cynthia pauses, as if unsure of how to phrase it. Finally, she says, simply, “I guess I’m still trying to work you out. Because you obviously seem into Barry, so-”

“Okay,” Iris cuts across her, embarrassment coiling in her gut. “That’s really not- I’m not talking about this.” And because, apparently, she really is the coward she and Barry were talking about earlier, she turns tail and walks out of the bathroom.

“Iris-” Cynthia calls after her, but Iris is hoping that she at least will have the decency to not say anything in front of Barry. She can’t understand what the other woman stands to gain from just pointing out Iris’ idiocy – surely Cisco wouldn’t care for someone cruel?

As Iris rounds the corner, she sees Cisco and Barry up ahead. Barry’s tapping something out on his phone, and Cisco looks weirdly annoyed. She walks closer, and hears Cisco say, in an irritated voice, “You shouldn’t, okay, she’s just going to-”

But he abruptly stops himself as he notices Iris. She gives him a bright smile as she reaches him, as if everything is fine and she didn’t hear Cisco get apparently annoyed at Barry texting presumably Kara. Perhaps that’s Cynthia’s angle, Iris wonders – perhaps neither of them like Kara. But Iris is definitely not going to be some pawn in their game, as if her confessing her feelings to Barry will make any difference at all.

Iris makes her excuses soon after, walking quickly home before they manage to convince her to go a bar with them. She promises to see them at the coffee shop soon, but she has a deadline she forgot about that she needs to work on. In reality, she just walks the long way home.

She feels her phone vibrate in her bag with an email. Expecting it to be just spam or something from work, she opens up the app out of habit more than anything else. Her boredom vanishes immediately once she actually reads it, from an encrypted sender.

_Come meet me. CCPN rooftop, like before._

_Yours, Flash_

Her heart beats heavy against her rib cage, and she’s changing direction before she can even consider the stupidity. She has no way of verifying the sender, and it’s very likely she’s walking right into a mugging. But apparently, the thought of seeing him again, of taking her mind off her mundane issues, is enough to forgo all logic.

She lets herself into the empty office easily enough, riding the elevator as high up as she can and then climbing the stairs to the fire exit. The blast of cool air is a welcome relief to the turgidity in the stairwell, and she makes her way immediately to the edge. He’s not here yet – she didn’t really expect him to be, though. He must be busy.

Iris leans on her palms on the edge of the rooftop, hips aligned with the surface of the half-wall containing the area. She lets out a long exhale, breathes in the night sky and city sounds.

“You came.”

Iris lets out a small laugh of relief. Part of her was actually worried  _he_  wouldn’t be the one to show up – or that she’d fallen for a pretty basic trap. She doesn’t turn around, knowing that’ll just scare him away to another corner of the rooftop. Instead, she directs her question over the ball of her shoulder. “How come you always sound disappointed when I actually show up to meeting you?”

As if they’re magnets, she can  _feel_  him come closer, can sense his padded footsteps come up behind her. She doesn’t dare move an inch in case he shies away. “Maybe I keep hoping you’ll have some sense of self-preservation.”

“Maybe I just can’t stay away,” she breathes, admitting to the moon what she’d never tell anyone else. He’s quiet, and she thinks she’s finally pushed him too far. But she’s been fielding questions all week about his girlfriend, she’s felt his arms around her more times than she can count, and she’s tired of pretending this doesn’t matter. These days, when she has a nightmare about finding more bodies, somehow, the Flash is always there to save her. She-

He slots himself against her back, leans his own arms so his fingertips graze hers on the concrete wall. Her breath hitches, and even that small movement makes the sharp edge of his lightning emblem graze against her shoulder. “Is this okay?” he asks, and is it her imagination that makes him sound nervous as well?

_What other girls_ , she remembers.

Before she can back out, she presses infinitesimally back against him, resting her skull on his collarbone. Neither of them move. The moment feels intimate, stolen. She burns wherever her skin meets red leather – she wishes he weren’t wearing it with a fierceness that surprises her. Maybe she can convince him just to take off one glove, just so she can know what the space between his fingers really feels like. The darkness makes this feel as special as her logic reminds her of its danger.

Logically, she knows part of the appeal is the mystery. That this isn’t real. But at the same time, she can’t deny the electricity she feels, the jolt that runs through her even when someone mentions the Flash.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she says, realising she didn’t even answer his question.

He leans down, whispers across the shell of her ear so she shivers, “Alright then.”

She feels a little bit mad. But with the madness, comes daring. She pushes her whole body gently back against him, pelvis to pelvis. Her ass is snug against him, the press of his belt and the press of-

“Iris,” he bites out, and she tucks her chin to hide her pleased grin. She feels that same electricity surge through her at the evidence of her effect on him. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“You’re the one with superpowers,” she points out, teasingly.

But she can feel his mood change. “Yeah,” he says, somber. “I am.” He moves an inch back from her, arms retracting back to his side.

Before she can even think it through, she spins, grabs onto his arm. It tenses underneath her grip – but he doesn’t leave. If she doesn’t look up, their height difference makes it so she’s only looking at his clavicle. “Didn’t you come for a reason? You emailed me, remember?”

His swallow is audible. “I did email you, yeah,” he admits. “I shouldn’t have. I didn’t have much of a reason.”

She doesn’t dare to look up – she knows how much he values his identity. Even if she won’t be able to recognise him just from his jaw, she doesn’t want to risk him getting skittish.

“I guess I just- wanted to see you.” He lets out a small laugh. “Sounds pretty stupid when I say it like that.”

She shakes her head. It makes perfect sense to her; after all, she’s the one who climbed up an entire building just to see him. “I’m glad,” is all she says, however.

He’s silent for a moment, and she revels in being this close to him. Under the leather, and the smell of ozone, there’s something else, something familiar in his scent that she can’t quite work out. But then he says, sounding sad, “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t. I don’t want to keep lying to you.”

She tilts her chin up, but keeps her eyes closed. She feels his hands close on her waist, feels the warmth of his breath as his face comes closer. She whispers against his lips, close enough to kiss if she even swayed forward, “Then don’t.”

And he’s gone, and she falls onto the flat of her feet with only the fire exit for company. She supposes she shouldn’t have expected anything else – but the thought doesn’t stop the ache in her chest.

-

_ISSUE #166 – THE STREAK STRUCK BY LOVE_

_Another day, another disaster averted. THE STREAK puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the scene: all three RASCALS, apprehended and HANDCUFFED together._

_THE STREAK: You know what they say! Too many VILLAINS ruin the BANK JOB!_

_But he’s too busy gloating over his victory to watch the WINDOW behind him. Before he can move away, MR. REFLECTOR leaps out from the glass using his MIRROR POWER, and uses a GLASS SHARD to STAB THE STREAK._

_Instinctively, the STREAK runs away, in absolute AGONY! He has quick healing powers, but he needs help! But who can he TRUST? He goes for his apartment, running up the side and just CRASHING through his window._

_Or, he SO HE THOUGHT? Too panicked to count the floors properly, he has actually crashed through his neighbour’s window! As he lies on the floor, bleeding heavily from his side, she comes running in from the bedroom. She kneels down beside him – he tenses, but she doesn’t go for his MASK! Instead, she only reaches for his WOUND._

_YASMIN: I’m going to HELP you, STREAK. Don’t worry – I’m a NURSE. You’re going to be okay._

_And as he slips into UNCONSCIOUSNESS, he finds himself BELIEVING HER. Her FACE is the last thing he sees before his eyes close – and it’s certainly a BEAUTIFUL FACE._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, honestly? i could've ended it at a far worse cliffhanger, so don't be too mad at the slow-burn my lovelies.


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